UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


UNIVERSITY  of  CALIFOKMm 

AT 
LOS  ANGELES 

TTRBABV 


k     I 

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The  Silver  Series  of  English  and  American  Classics 


BALLADS 

OF 

AMERICAN    BRAVERY 

EDITED,    WITH  NOTES 


BY 


CLINTON  SCOLLARD 

AUTHOR   OF   "  OLD   AND   NEW    WORLD   LYRICS,"    "  SONGS   OF   SUNRISE   LANDS," 


SILVER,  BURDETT  AND  COMPANY 
Niw  YORK  BOSTON  CHICAGO 


COPYRIGHT,  1900, 
BY  SILVER,  BURDETT  AND  COMPANY 


PS 


PREFATORY   WORD 

WHILE  it  has  been,  in  the  main,  the  purpose  of  the 
Editor  to  include  in  the  present  collection  only  such 
poems  as  commemorate  some  signal  act  of  valor  his 
torically  verified,  it  has  seemed  best  to  widen  the 
scope  sufficiently  to  admit  a  few  selections  that  must 
have  been  excluded  were  the  lines  rigorously  drawn. 
To  appeal  to  the  student  of  American  history  has  been 
the  primary  aim  ;  yet,  inasmuch  as  the  chord  played 
upon  —  that  of  heroism  —  finds  a  responsive  echo  in 
every  heart,  it  is  hoped  that  the  book  may  prove  of 
interest  to  the  general  public  as  well.  Though  there 
has  been  no  attempt  at  an  exhaustive  selection,  a 
natural  desire  to  cover  as  wide  a  field  as  possible  has 
led  to  the  admission  of  some  ballads  of  lesser  literary 
value,  though  it  is  believed  that  none  will  be  found 
that  has  not  sufficient  merit  to  warrant  its  presence. 

The  Editor  desires  to  make  grateful  acknowledgment 
to  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Company,  Harper  &  Brothers, 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  The  Funk  &  Wagnalls  Com 
pany,  The  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  The  Century 
Company,  Herbert  S.  Stone  &  Company,  John  Lane, 
The  Lothrop  Publishing  Company,  and  the  Youth's 
Companion,  for  courtesies  extended,  and  also  to  thank 
most  heartily  the  various  authors  whose  work  is  in 
cluded,  or  those  representing  them,  for  their  cordial 
cooperation. 
CLINTOK,  NEW  YORK,  March,  1900. 


iii 


IN  TIME  or  STRIFE 
V  I.  Paul  Revere's  Ride   .     .     .     . 

2.  Mary  Butler's  Ride   .     .     .     . 

3.  The  Surprise  at  Ticonderoga  . 

4.  Montgomery  at  Quebec       .  . 

5.  The  Maryland  Battalion     . 

6.  Arnold  at  Stillwater       .     .  . 

7.  The  Yankee  Man-of-War  .  . 

8.  The  Ride  of  Jennie  M'Neal  . 

9.  The  Song  of  Marion's  Men 

10.  How  We  Burned  the  "  Phila 

delphia"       

11.  The     "  Shannon  "     and    the 

"Chesapeake"      .     .     .     . 

12.  The    Fight    of    the    "  Arm 

strong"  Privateer       .     .     . 

13.  The  Men  of  the  Alamo       .     . 

14.  The  Fight  at  the  San  Jacinto  . 

15.  Monterey 

1 6.  The  Defense  of  Lawrence  .     . 

17.  Blood  Is  Thicker  than  Water  , 

18.  Bethel 

19.  The  Charge  by  the  Ford     .     . 
ao.  Th«  Littlt  Drummer 


Henry  Wads-worth  Longfel 
low  3 

Benjamin  Franklin  Taylor  7 
Mary  Anna  Phinney  Stans- 

bury 13 

Clinton  Scollard    .     .     .     .  17 

John  Williamson  Palmer    .  19 

Thomas  Dunn  English  .     .  21 

Anonymous 27 

Will  Carleton 29 

William  Cullen  Bryant      .  34 


Barrett  Eastman 


36 


Thomas  Tracy  Bouve"    .     .  40 

James  Jeffrey  Roche      .     .  43 

Jfames  Jeffrey  Roche      .     .  48 

John  Williamson  Palmer  .  51 

Charles  Fenno  Hoffman       .  54 

Richard  Realf 55 

Wallace  Rice 57 

A  ugustine    Joseph    Hickey 

Duganne 61 

Thomas  Dunn  English  .     .  64 

Rithard  Htnry  Stoddard    ,  66 


VI  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

21.  The  Cumberland Henry  Wadsworth  Longfel 

low  70 

22.  Johnston  at  Shiloh     ....  Fleming  James     ....  72 

23.  The  River  Fight Henry  Howard  Brownell   .  77 

24.  Kearny  at  Seven  Pines  .     .     .  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman  .  81 

25.  The  Unknown  Hero      .     .     .  William  Gordon  McCabe    .  83 

26.  Barbara  Frietchie      ....  John  Greenleaf  Whittier    .  84 

27.  The  Eagle  of  Corinth     .     .     .  Henry  Howard  Brownell   .  87 

28.  Ready Phoebe  Cary 90 

29.  The  Battle  of  Charleston  Har- 

30. 
*  3i. 
32. 
33- 
34- 
35- 
36. 
37- 
33. 
39- 
40. 
4i. 
42. 
43- 
44- 
45- 
46. 

47.  Down  the  Little  Big  Horn      .     Francis  Brooks      ....   135 

48.  The  Bond  of  Blood  ....      Will  Henry  Thompson   .     .   138 

49.  A  Ballad  of  Manila  Bay      .     .     Charles  George  Douglas  Rob 

erts  141 

50.  Dewey  at  Manila       ....     Robert  Underwood  Johnson  143 

51.  The  Men  of  the  "  Merrimac  ".     Clinton  Scollard    ....   147 

52.  The  Charge  at  Santiago      .     .      William  Hamilton  Hayne  .  149 

53.  Spain's  Last  Armada      .     .     .      Wallace  Rice 150 

54.  Ballad  of  Paco  Town     .     .     .     Clinton  Scollard    .     .     .     .155 

IN  TIME  OF  PEACE 

55.  Peace  Hath  Her  Victories  .     .      Wallace  Rice    .     .          .     .  161 

56.  In  the  Tunnel Bret  Harte 163 


Keenan's  Charge  .... 

George  Parsons  Lathrop      . 

V* 

The  Hero  of  the  Gun     .     . 
An  Incident  of  War  . 
The  Black  Regiment      .     . 
Greencastle  Jenny 
John  Burns  of  Gettysburg  . 

Margaret  Junkin  Preston  . 
Maurice  Thompson    . 
.     George  Henry  Boker  .     .     . 
Helen  Gray  Cone  .... 
.     Bret  Harte  

97 
99 

IOI 

104 
106 

High  Tide  at  Gettysburg    . 
Thomas  at  Chickamauga    . 
The  Smallest  of  the  Drums 
Little  Giffcn     

Will  Henry  Thompson  .     . 
Kate  Brownlee  Sherwood    . 
James  Buckham   .... 
Francis  Orrery  Ticknor 

no 

"3 

117 

IIQ 

Ulric  Dahlgren     .... 

Kate  Brownlee  Sherwood   . 

121 

Farragut      

.      William  Tuckey  Meredith 

122 

Lee  to  the  Rear    .... 

John  Randolph  Thompson  . 

124 

Henry  Newbolt      .... 

T?R 

Gracie  of  Alabama    . 
The  Ballad  of  a  Little  Fun 
Sheridan's  Ride    . 

Francis  Orrery  Ticknor 
Matirice  Thompson    . 
Thomas  Buchanan  Reid 

129 

m 

CONTENTS  VI 1 

PACE 

57.  The  Ballad  of  Calnan's  Christ- 

mas Helen  Gray  Cone  ....   165 

58.  How  He  Saved  St.  Michael's  .     Mary  Anna  Phinney  Stans- 

bury 167 

59.  The  Ride  of  Collins  Graves      .     jfoAn  Boyle  O'Reilly  .     .     .  171 

60.  Jim  Bludso John  Hay 174 

61.  George  Nidiver Anonymous 176 

62.  A  Man's  Name Richard  Realf 178 

63.  The  Man  Who  Rode  to  Cone- 

maugh John  Eliot  Bo  wen     .     .     .180 

64.  Johnny  Bartholomew     .     .     .  Thomas  Dunn  English  .     .182 

65.  His  Name Margaret  Junkin  Preston  .   185 

66.  Old  Braddock John  Vance  Cheney   .     .     .186 

67.  In  Apia  Bay Charles  George  Douglas  Rob 

erts  189 

NOTES 193 


BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 


Great  Greece  hath  her  Thermopylae  ; 

Stout  Switzerland  her  Tell; 
The  Scot  his  Wallace  heart — and  we 

Have  saints  and  shrines  as  well. 


Richard  Realf. 


fln  Sime  of  Strife 


IN  TIME  OF  STRIFE 


i 
PAUL  REVERE'S   RIDE 

LISTEN,  my  children,  and  you  shall  hear 

Of  the  midnight  ride  of  Paul  Revere, 

On  the  eighteenth  of  April,  in  Seventy-Five; 

Hardly  a  man  is  now  alive 

Who  remembers  that  famous  day  and  year. 

He  said  to  his  friend,  "  If  the  British  march 

By  land  or  sea  from  the  town  to-night, 

Hang  a  lantern  aloft  in  the  belfry  arch 

Of  the  North  Church  tower  as  a  signal  light, — 

One,  if  by  land,  and  two,  if  by  sea; 

And  I  on  the  opposite  shore  will  be, 

Ready  to  ride  and  spread  the  alarm 

Through  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm, 

For  the  country  folk  to  be  up  and  to  arm." 

Then  he  said,  "  Good-night!  "  and  with  mufflecj  6ar 

Silently  rowed  to  the  Charlestown  shore, 

Just  as  the  moon  rose  over  the  bay, 

Where  swinging  wide  at  her  moorings  lay 

I 


4  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

The  Somerset,  British  man-of-war; 

A  phantom  ship,  with  each  mast  and  spar 

Across  the  moon  like  a  prison  bar, 

And  a  huge  black  hulk,  that  was  magnified 

By  its  own  reflection  in  the  tide. 

Meanwhile,  his  friend,  through  alley  and  street 
Wanders  and  watches  with  eager  ears, 
Till  in  the  silence  around  him  he  hears 
The  muster  of  men  at  the  barrack  door, 
The  sound  of  arms,  and  the  tramp  of  feet, 
And  the  measured  tread  of  the  grenadiers 
Marching  down  to  their  boats  on  the  shore. 

Then  he  climbed  the  tower  of  the  Old  North  Church, 

By  the  wooden  stairs,  with  stealthy  tread, 

To  the  belfry  chamber  overhead, 

And  startled  the  pigeons  from  their  perch 

On  the  sombre  rafters,  that  round  him  made 

Masses  and  moving  shapes  of  shade, — 

By  the  trembling  ladder,  steep  and  tall, 

To  the  highest  window  in  the  wall, 

Where  he  paused  to  listen  and  look  down 

A  moment  on  the  roofs  of  the  town, 

And  the  moonlight  flowing  over  all. 

Beneath,  in  the  churchyard,  lay  the  dead, 
In  their  night  encampment  on  the  hill, 
Wrapped  in  silence  so  deep  and  still 
That  he  could  hear,  like  a  sentinel's  tread* 
The  watchful  night-wind,  as  it  went 
Creeping  along  from  tent  to  tent, 
And  seeming  to  whisper,  "  All  is  well!  " 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  5 

A  moment  only  he  feels  the  spell 

Of  the  place  and  the  hour,  and  the  secret  dread 

Of  the  lonely  belfry  and  the  dead; 

For  suddenly  all  his  thoughts  are  bent 

On  a  shadowy  something  far  away, 

Where  the  river  widens  to  meet  the  bay, — 

A  line  of  black  that  bends  and  floats 

On  the  rising  tide,  like  a  bridge  of  boats. 

Meanwhile,  impatient  to  mount  and  ride, 
Booted  and  spurred,  with  a  heavy  stride 
On  the  opposite  shore  walked  Paul  Revere. 
Now  he  patted  his  horse's  side, 
Now  gazed  at  the  landscape  far  and  near, 
Then,  impetuous,  stamped  the  earth, 
And  turned  and  tightened  his  saddle  girth; 
But  mostly  he  watched  with  eager  search 
The  belfry  tower  of  the  Old  North  Church, 
As  it  rose  above  the  graves  on  the  hill, 
Lonely  and  spectral  and  sombre  and  still. 
And  lo!  as  he  looks,  on  the  belfry's  height, 
A  glimmer,  and  then  a  gleam  of  light! 
He  springs  to  the  saddle,  the  bridle  he  turns, 
But  lingers  and  gazes,  till  full  on  his  sight 
A  second  lamp  in  the  belfry  burns! 

A  hurry  of  hoofs  in  the  village  street, 

A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark, 

And  beneath,  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing,  a  spark 

Struck  out  by  a  steed  flying  fearless  and  fleet: 

That  was  all!     And  yet,  through  the  gloom  and  the 

light, 
The  fate  of  a  nation  was  riding  that  night; 


6  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

And  the  spark  struck  out  by  that  steed,  in  his  flight, 

Kindled  the  land  into  flame  with  its  heat. 

He  has  left  the  village  and  mounted  the  steep, 

And  beneath  him,  tranquil  and  broad  and  deep, 

Is  the  Mystic,  meeting  the  ocean  tides; 

And  under  the  alders,  that  skirt  its  edge, 

Now  soft  on  the  sand,  now  loud  on  the  ledge, 

Is  heard  the  tramp  of  his  steed  as  he  rides. 

It  was  twelve  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  crossed  the  bridge  into  Medford  town. 

He  heard  the  crowing  of  the  cock, 

And  the  barking  of  the  farmer's  dog, 

And  felt  the  damp  of  the  river  fog, 

That  rises  after  the  sun  goes  down. 

It  was  one  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  galloped  into  Lexington. 

He  saw  the  gilded  weathercock 

Swim  in  the  moonlight  as  he  passed, 

And  the  meeting-house  windows,  blank  and  bare, 

Gaze  at  him  with  a  spectral  glare, 

As  if  they  already  stood  aghast 

At  the  bloody  work  they  would  look  upon. 

It  was  two  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  came  to  the  bridge  in  Concord  town. 

He  heard  the  bleating  of  the  flock, 

And  the  twitter  of  birds  among  the  trees, 

And  felt  the  breath  of  the  morning  breeze 

Blowing  over  the  meadows  brown. 

And  one  was  safe  and  asleep  in  his  bed 

Who  at  the  bridge  would  be  first  to  fall, 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  J 

Who  that  day  would  be  lying  dead, 
Pierced  by  a  British  musket-ball. 

You  know  the  rest.     In  the  books  you  have  read 
How  the  British  Regulars  fired  and  fled, — 
How  the  farmers  gave  them  ball  for  ball, 
From  behind  each  fence  and  farmyard  wall, 
Chasing  the  redcoats  down  the  lane, 
Then  crossing  the  fields  to  emerge  again 
Under  the  trees  at  the  turn  of  the  road, 
And  only  pausing  to  fire  and  load. 

So  through  the  night  rode  Paul  Revere ; 

And  so  through  the  night  went  his  cry  of  alarm 

To  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm, — 

A  cry  of  defiance  and  not  of  fear, 

A  voice  in  the  darkness,  a  knock  at  the  door, 

And  a  word  that  shall  echo  forevermore! 

For,  borne  on  the  night-wind  of  the  Past, 

Through  all  our  history,  to  the  last, 

In  the  hour  of  darkness  and  peril  and  need, 

The  people  will  waken  and  listen  to  hear 

The  hurrying  hoof-beats  of  that  steed, 

And  the  midnight  message  of  Paul  Revere. 

HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 
(By  special  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company.) 

2 

MARY  BUTLER'S  RIDE 

EBENEZER  EASTMAN,  of  Gilmanton,  is  dead ; — 

At  least  they  had  him  buried  full  fifty  years  ago; — 
The  gray  White  Mountain  granite  they  set  above  his 
head, 


8  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

With  some  graven  words  upon  it,  to  let  the  neighbors 

know 
Precisely  what  it  was  that  made  the  grasses  grow 

So  wondrous  rank  and  strong.      How  they  rippled  in 
the  wind, 

As  if  nobody  ever  died,  nobody  ever  sinned! 

To  that  old  Bible  name  of  his  what  eloquence  was  lent 

When  its  owner  marched  to  battle, — not  a  ration,  not 
a  tent, 

Nor  a  promise  nor  a  sign  of  a  Continental  cent! 

Ho,  Ebenezer  Eastman!     We  '11  call  the  roll  again, — 

Ho,  dead  and  gone  Lieutenant  of  the  old-time  Minute- 
Men! 

Plowing   land    for  turnips,   with  awkward   Buck  and 

Bright, 
Was  stout  Lieutenant  Eastman,  one  lovely  day  in 

June; 
He  "  hawed  "  them  to  the  left  and  he  "  geed  "  them 

to  the  right, 
And  they  slowly  came  about  in  the  lazy  summer 

noon, 

He  humming  to  himself  the  fragment  of  a  tune, 
Which  he  would  croon  at  night  to  the  baby-boy  who  lay 
In  basswood  trough  becradled  first,  a  week  ago  that 
day! 

»•••••* 

All  at  a  flying  gallop  a  rider  swings  in  sight, 

Pulls   up    beside   the    fallow   and    gives   the   view- 
halloo, — 

His  horse's  flanks  are  black,   but  his  neck  is  foamy 
white : — 


I.\r  TIME    OF  STRIFE  Q 

Turn  out,  Lieutenant  Eastman !     There  's  some 
thing  else  to  do! 

The  redcoats  are  a-swarming!     Your  summer  plow 
ing  's  through!  " 

No  other  word — away!     And  the  rattling  of  the  hoofs 

Was   like   the   rain   from   traveling  clouds  along  the 
cabin  roofs. 

The  plowman  turned  his  cattle  out ;  he  saddled  up  the 
bay, 

And  he  rallied  out  the  wilderness  upon  that  summer 
day, 

And  the  Minute-Men  of  Gilmanton  to  Boston  marched 
away. 

About  the  mother  ?     Well,    she  watched   beside  the 
cabin  door, 

And    rocked    the    baby's    basswood    boat    upon   the 
puncheon  floor. 

Days  grew  long  in  Gilmanton,  and  weeds  among  the 

corn; 
The  quoiting  ground  was  grassy,  and  louder  rang  the 

rill; 

The  wrestling  match  was  over, — the  smithy  was  for 
lorn, — 
The  spiders  in  the  empty  door  had  swung  their  webs 

at  will, — 

The  champions  had  gone  to  Bunker's  smoky  Hill, 
To  try  the  quaint  old-fashioned  "  lock  "  they  practiced 

on  the  Green, 
And  such  a  game  of  tough  "  square  hold  "  the  world 

has  seldom  seen ! 
About  the  father  ?     Only  this; — he  fought  in  Stark's 

brigade, 


IO  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

On  Charlestown  Neck,  that  dusty  day.     A  splendid 

mark  he  made; 
He  never  flinched  a  single  inch  when  British  cannon 

played, 
But  foddered  up  an  old  rail  fence  with  Massachusetts 

hay, 
Stood  out  the  battle  at  the  rack,  and  stoutly  blazed 

away! 

Lo,  through  the  smoky  glory,  that  human  flower-de- 
luce, 
The  gray-eyed  Mary  Butler,  Lieutenant  Eastman's 

wife! 

Her  pallid  cheek  and  brow  like  a  holy  flag  of  truce, 
Her  heart  as  sweet  and  red  as  a  rose's  inner  life, 
No  murmur  on  her  lips,  nor  sign  of  any  strife. 
Four  days   before  the  fight.      Has  the  little  woman 

heard 
From  anybody  Boston  way  ?     Nobody — not  a  word ! 

Then  up  rose  Mary  Butler,  and  set  her  wheel  at  rest ; 
She  swept  the  puncheon  floor,  she  washed  the  cot 
tage  pride, — 
The  cottage  pride  of  three  weeks  old,  and  dressed  him 

in  his  best, — 
She  wound  the  clock  that  told  the  time  her  mother 

was  a  bride, 

And  porringer  and  spoon  she  deftly  laid  aside; 
She  strung  a  clean    white  apron    across  the  window 

panes, 
And  swung  the  kettle  fiom  the  crane,  for  fear  of  rusting 

rains ; 

Then  tossed  her  saddle  on  the  bay  and  donned  her 
linen  gown, 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  II 

And  took  the  baby  on  before, — no  looking  round  or 

down! 
Full    seventy    miles  to  Cambridge  town !     Bring  out 

your  civic  crown ! 
I  think  't  will  fit  that  brow  of  hers  who  sadly  smiled 

and  said : 
"  We  '11  know  about  your  father,  boy,  and  who  is  hurt 

or  dead!  " 
The  maple  woods  that  round  her  stand  so  solemn  in 

the  calm, 

Up   and    down    are   swaying   slowly,    like  a  singing- 
master's  palm, 

All  together  beating  time, — not  a  soul  to  sing  a  psalm ! 
"  There  's  been  a  dreadful  battle!  "  —that  's  what  the 

neighbors  said, 
"  But  when  or  where  we  cannot  tell,  nor  who  is  hurt 

or  dead." 

Rugged  maples  broke  their  ranks  to  let  the  rider  by, 
Fell   in   behind   her  noiseless  as   falls   the  stealthy 

dew; 

Such  heavy  folds  of  starless  dark  in  double  shadow  lie, 
The  slender  bridle  path  she  treads  can  only  just  show 

through, 
And  buried  in  the  leafy  miles  was  all  the  world  she 

knew. 

By  muffled  drum  of  partridge  and  jaunty  jay-bird's  fife, 
That  mother  made  her  lonely  march, — that  Continen 
tal  wife. 
She  never  drew  the  bridle  rein  till  forty  miles  were 

done, 

And  on  her  ended  journey  shone  the  second  setting 
sun, 


12  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

And  round  the  Bay,  like  battle  clock,  tolled  out  the 

evening  gun. 
Talk  not  of  pomps  and  tournaments!     If  only  you  had 

seen 
The  royal  ride  from  Gilmanton,  the  halt  at  Cambridge 

Green ! 

Dust-bedimmed  and  weary,  with  a  look  as  though  she 

smiled, 
She  melted  through  the  haze  of  the  summer's  smoky 

gold! 

Some  master's  faded  picture  of  Madonna  and  the  Child, 
Born  full  a  thousand  years  ago,  and  never  growing 

old! 
She  heard  old  Putnam's  kennel  growl,  the  bells  of 

Charlestovvn  tolled ; 
She  saw  the  golden  day  turn  gray  within  an  ashen 

shroud, 
That  showed  the  scarlet  regulars  like  lightning  through 

a  cloud. 

Forth  from  the  furnace  and  the  fire  Lieutenant  East 
man  came, — 
The  smell  of  powder  in  his  clothes  and  fragrance  in  his 

fame, — 
And  met  her  bravely  waiting  there,  who  bore  his  boy 

and  name! — 
She  from  the  howling  wilderness — he  from  the  hell  of 

men, 
The  little  woman   called   the  roll;   he  called  it  back 

again ! 

Then  lightly    to    the  pillion    the   gray-eyed   wife  he 
swung, 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  13 

A  bundle  on  the  saddlebow  all  tenderly  he  placed, 
And,  lost  amid  the  leafy  calms  where  cannon  never 

rung, 
Away  they  rode  to  Gilrnanton,  her  arm  around  his 

waist, 
No  general's  sash   of  crimson   silk  so  rarely  could 

have  graced ! 

Ah,  Mary  Butler  cannot  die,  whatever  sextons  say, 
While  yet  life's  azure  pulses  keep  their  old  heroic  play. 

A  million  men  have  lingered  long,  a  million  men  have 

died, 

Who  never  saw  a  deed  so  grand  as  Mary  Butler's  ride! 

BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  TAYLOR. 


'T  WAS  May  upon  the  mountains,  and  on  the  airy  wing 
Of   every    floating  zephyr   came    pleasant   sounds  of 

spring,- 
Of  robins  in  the  orchards,  brooks  running  clear  and 

warm, 
Or   chanticleer's   shrill  challenge    from  busy  farm  to 

farm. 

But,  ranged  in  serried  order,  attent  on  sterner  noise, 
Stood  stalwart  Ethan  Allen  and  his  "  Green  Mountain 

Boys,"- 

Two  hundred  patriots  listening,  as  with  the  ears  of  one, 
To  the  echo  of  the  muskets  that  blazed  at  Lexington! 


14  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

"  My  comrades," — thus  the  leader  spake  to  his  gallant 

band, — 

The  key  of  all  the  Canadas  is  in  King  George's  hand, 
Yet,  while  his  careless  warders  our  slender  armies  mock, 
Good    Yankee  swords  —  God  willing  —  may  pick  his 
rusty  lock!  " 

At  every  pass  a  sentinel  was  set  to  guard  the  way, 
Lest  the  secret  of  their  purpose  some  idle  lip  betray, 
As  on  the  rocky  highway  they  marched  with  steady 

feet 
To  the  rhythm  of  the  brave  hearts  that  in  their  bosoms 

beat. 

The  curtain  of  the  darkness  closed  'round  them  like  a 

tent,  .^ 

When,  travel-worn  and  weary,  yet  not  with  courage 

spent, 

They  halted  on  the  border  of  slumbering  Champlain, 
And  saw  the  watch  lights  glimmer  across  the  glassy 

plain. 

O  proud  Ticonderoga,  enthroned  amid  the  hills! 

O  bastions   of  old    Carillon,    the  "  Fort  of  Chiming 

Rills!" 
Well  might  your  quiet  garrison  have  trembled  where 

they  lay, 
And,  dreaming,  grasped  their  sabres  against  the  dawn 

of  day ! 

In  silence  and  in  shadow  the  boats  were  pushed  from 
shore, 


JN  TIME    OF  STRIFE  15 

Strong  hands  laid  down  the  musket  to  ply  the  muffled 

oar; 
The  startled  ripples  whitened  and  whispered  in  their 

wake, 
Then  sank  again,  reposing,  upon  the  peaceful  lake. 

Fourscore  and  three  they  landed,  just  as  the  morning 

gray 

Gave  warning  on  the  hilltops  to  rest  not  or  delay ; 
Behind,  their  comrades  waited,  the  fortress  frowned 

before, 
And  the  voice  of  Ethan  Allen  was  in  their  ears  once 

more: 

"  Soldiers,  so  long  united — dread  scourge  of  lawless 

power ! 
Our  country,  torn  and  bleeding,  calls  to  this  desperate 

hour. 

One  choice  alone  is  left  us,  who  hear  that  high  behest — 
To  quit  our  claims  to  valor,  or  put  them  to  the  test! 

'  I  lead  the  storming  column  up  yonder  fateful  hill, 
Yet  not  a  man  shall  follow  save  at  his  ready  will ! 
There    leads    no    pathway    backward — 't   is   death   or 

victory ! 
Poise  each  his  trusty  firelock,  ye  that  will  come  with 

me!" 

From  man  to  man   a  tremor  ran    at    their   captain's 

word, — 
(Like  the  "  going"   in  the  mulberry-trees  that  once 

King  David  heard),— 


1 6  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

While  his  ea§le  glances  sweeping  adown   the    triple 

line, 
Saw,  in  the  glowing  twilight,  each  even  barrel  shine! 

"  Right  face,  my  men,  and  forward!  "  Low-spoken, 
swift-obeyed ! 

They  mount  the  slope  unfaltering — they  gain  the  es 
planade! 

A  single  drowsy  sentry  beside  the  wicket-gate, 

Snapping  his  aimless  fusil,  shouts  the  alarm — too  late ! 

They  swarm  before  the  barracks — the  quaking  guards 

take  flight, 

And  such  a  shout  exultant  resounds  along  the  height, 
As  rang  from  shore  and  headland  scarce  twenty  years 

ago, 

When  brave  Montcalm's  defenders  charged  on  a  British 
foe! 

Leaps  from  his  bed  in  terror  the  ill-starred  Delaplace, 
To  meet  across  his  threshold  a  wall  he  may  not  pass ! 
The  bayonets'   lightning  flashes  athwart  his  dazzled 

eyes, 
And,  in  tones  of  sudden  thunder,  "  Surrender!  "  Allen 

cries. 

'  Then  in  whose  name  the  summons  ? "  the  ashen  lips 

reply. 
The  mountaineer's  stern  visage  turns  proudly  toward 

the  sky, — 
"  In  the  name  of  great  Jehovah!  "  he  speaks  with  lifted 

sword, 
"  And  the  Continental  Congress,  who  wait  upon  His 

word  J ' ' 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  \J 

Light   clouds,    like    crimson    banners,    trailed    bright 

across  the  east, 
As  the  great  sun  rose  in  splendor  above  a  conflict 

ceased, 

Gilding  the  bloodless  triumph  for  equal  rights  and  laws, 
As  with  the  smile  of  heaven  upon  a  holy  cause. 

Still,  wave  on  wave  of  verdure,  the  emerald  hills  arise, 

Where  once  were  heroes  mustered  from  men  of  com 
mon  guise, 

And  still,  on  Freedom's  roster,  through  all  her  glorious 
years, 

Shine  the  names  of  Ethan  Allen  and  his  bold  volun 
teers  ! 

MARY  ANNA  PHINNEY  STANSBURY. 

(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  The  YoutKs 


4 
MONTGOMERY  AT  QUEBEC 

ROUND  Quebec's  embattled  walls 
Moodily  the  patriots  lay; 

Dread  disease  within  its  thralls 
Drew  them  closer  day  by  day; 

Till  from  suffering  man  to  man, 

Mutinous,  a  murmur  ran. 

Footsore,  they  had  wandered  far, 
They  had  fasted,  they  had  bled; 

They  had  slept  beneath  the  star 
With  no  pillow  for  the  head; 

Was  it  but  to  freeze  to  stone 

In  this  cruel  icy  zone  ? 


1 8  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Yet  their  leader  held  his  heart, 

Naught  discouraged,  naught  dismayed; 
Quelled  with  unobtrusive  art 

Those  that  muttered ;  unafraid 
•    Waited,  watchful,  for  the  hour 

When  his  golden  chance  should  flower. 

'T  was  the  death-tide  of  the  year; 

Night  had  passed  its  murky  noon ; 
Through  the  bitter  atmosphere 

Pierced  nor  ray  of  star  nor  moon ; 
But  upon  the  bleak  earth  beat 
Blinding  arrows  of  the  sleet. 

While  the  trumpets  of  the  storm 

Pealed  the  bastioned  heights  around, 

Did  the  dauntless  heroes  form, 
Did  the  low,  sharp  order  sound. 

"  Be  the  watchword  Liberty  !  " 

Cried  the  brave  Montgomery. 

Here,  where  he  had  won  applause, 
When  Wolfe  faced  the  Gallic  foe, 

For  a  nobler,  grander  cause 

Would  he  strike  the  fearless  blow,—- 

Smite  at  Wrong  upon  the  throne, 

At  Injustice  giant  grown. 

'  Men,  you  will  not  fear  to  tread 
f  Where  your  general  dares  to  lead! 
On,  my  valiant  boys!  "  he  said, 
And  his  foot  was  first  to  speed ; 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  19 

Swiftly  up  the  beetling  steep, 
Lion-hearted,  did  he  leap. 

Flashed  a  sudden  blinding  glare; 

Roared  a  fearsome  battle-peal; 
Rang  the  gloomy  vasts  of  air; 

Seemed  the  earth  to  rock  and  reel; 
While  adovvn  that  fiery  breath 
Rode  the  hurtling  bolts  of  death. 

Woe  for  him,  the  valorous  one, 

Now  a  silent  clod  of  clay! 
Nevermore  for  him  the  sun 

Would  make  glad  the  paths  of  day; 
Yet  't  were  better  thus  to  die 
Than  to  cringe  to  tyranny! — 

Better  thus  the  life  to  yield, 

Striking  for  the  right  and  God, 
Upon  Freedom's  gory  field, 

Than  to  kiss  Oppression's  rod! 
Honor,  then,  for  all  time  be 
To  the  brave  Montgomery! 

CLINTON  SCOLLARD. 


5 
THE  MARYLAND  BATTALION 

SPRUCE  Macaronis,  and  pretty  to  see, 
Tidy  and  dapper  and  gallant  were  we; 
Blooded  fine  gentlemen,  proper  and  tall, 
Bold  in  a  fox-hunt  and  gay  at  a  ball ; 


2O  BALLADS   OF  AMERICAN   BRAVERY 

Prancing  soldados  so  martial  and  bluff, 
Billets  for  bullets,  in  scarlet  and  buff  — 
But  our  cockades  were  clasped  with  a  mother's  low 

prayer, 
And  the  sweethearts  that  braided  the  sword-knots  were 

fair. 

There  was  grummer  of  drums  humming  hoarse  in  the 

hills, 

And  the  bugles  sang  fanfaron  down  by  the  mills. 
By  Flatbush  the  bagpipes  were  droning  amain, 
And  keen  cracked  the  rifles  in  Martense's  lane; 
For  the  Hessians  were  flecking  the  hedges  with  red, 
And  the  grenadiers'  tramp  marked  the  roll  of  the  dead. 

Three  to  one,  flank  and  rear,  flashed  the  files  of  St. 

George, 

The  fierce  gleam  of  their  steel  as  the  glow  of  a  forge. 
The  brutal  boom-boom  of  their  swart  cannoneers 
Was  sweet  music  compared   with  the  taunt  of  their 

cheers — 

For  the  brunt  of  their  onset,  our  crippled  array, 
And  the  light  of  God's  leading  gone  out  in  the  fray. 

Oh,  the  rout  on  the  left  and  the  tug  on  the  right! 
The  mad  plunge  of  the  charge  and  the  wreck  of  the 

flight! 

When  the  cohorts  of  Grant  held  stout  Stirling  at  strain, 
And  the  mongrels  of  Hesse  went  tearing  the  slain;    - 
When  at  Freeke's  Mill  the  flumes  and  the  sluices  ran 

red, 
And  the  dead  choked  the  dike  and  the  marsh  chpked 

the  dead! 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  21 

"  Oh,  Stirling,  good  Stirling,  how  long  must  we  wait  ? 
Shall  the  shout  of  your  trumpet  unleash  us  too  late  ? 
Have  you  never  a  dash  for  brave  Mordecai  Gist, 
With  his   heart   in    his  throat,  and  his  blade  in  his 

fist  ? 

Are  we  good  for  no  more  than  to  prance  in  a  ball, 
When  the  drums  beat  the  charge  and   the  clarions 

call?" 

Traldra!     Tralara!     Now  praise  we  the  Lord 

For  the  clang  of  His  call  and  the  flash  of  His  sword! 

Tralara!     Tralara!     Now  forward  to  die; 

For  the  banner,  hurrah  !  and  for  sweethearts,  good-by ! 

"  Four  hundred  wild  lads!"     May  be  so.       I  '11  be 

bound 

'T  will  be  easy  to  count  us,  face  up,  on  the  ground. 
If  we  hold  the  road  open,  though  Death  take  the  toll, 
We  '11  be  missed  on  parade  when  the  States  call  the 

roll- 
When  the  flags  meet  in  peace  and  the  guns  are  at  rest, 
And  fair  Freedom  is  singing  Sweet  Home  in  the  West. 

JOHN  WILLIAMSON  PALMER. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author.) 


6 
ARNOLD  AT  STILLWATER 

AH,  you  mistake  me,  comrades,  to  think  that  my  heart 

is  steel! 
Cased  in  a  cold  endurance,  nor  pleasure  nor  pain  to 

feel; 


22  BALLADS  OF  AMERICA  A?  BRAVERY 

Cold  as  I  am  in  my  manner,  yet  over  these  cheeks  so 

seared 
Teardrops  have  fallen  in  torrents,  thrice  since  my  chin 

grew  beard. 

Thrice  since  my  chin  was  bearded  I  suffered  the  tears 

to  fall ; 
Benedict  Arnold,  the  traitor,  he  was  the  cause  of  them 

all! 
Once,  when  he  carried  Stillwater,  proud  of  his  valor,  I 

cried ; 
Then,  with  my  rage  at  his  treason — with  pity  when 

Andre  died. 

Benedict  Arnold,  the  traitor,  sank  deep  in  the  pit  of 

shame, 
Bartered  for  vengeance  his  honor,  blackened  for  profit 

his  fame; 

Yet  never  a  gallanter  soldier,  whatever  his  after  crime, 
Fought  on  the  red  field  of  honor  than  he  in  his  early 

time. 

Ah,  I  remember  Stillwater,  as  it  were  yesterday  ! 

Then  first  I  shouldered  a  firelock,  and  set  out  the  foe- 
men  to  slay. 

The  country  was  up  all  around  us,  racing  and  chasing 
Burgoyne, 

And  I  had  gone  out  with  my  neighbors,  Gates  and  his 
forces  to  join. 

Marched  we  with  Poor  and  with  Learned,  ready  and 

eager  to  fight ; 
There  stood  the  foemen  before  us,  cannon  and  men  on 

the  height; 


7.V  TIME    OP  STRIJ-T.  23 

Onward  we  trod  with  no  shouting,  forbidden  to  fire  till 

the  word; 
As  silent  their  long  line  of  scarlet — not  one  of  them 

whispered  or  stirred. 

Suddenly,   then,    from    among  them  smoke  rose  and 

spread  on  the  breeze ; 
Grapeshot  flew  over  us  sharply,  cutting  the  limbs  from 

the  trees; 
But  onward  we  pressed  till  the  order  of  Cilley  fell  full 

on  the  ear; 
Then  we  leveled  our  pieces  and  fired  them,  and  rushed 

up  the  slope  with  a  cheer. 

Fiercely  we  charged  on  their  center,  and  beat  back  the 

stout  grenadiers, 
And  wounded  the  brave  Major  Ackland,  and  grappled 

the  swart  cannoneers; 
Five  times  we  captured  their  cannons,  and  five  times 

they  took  them  again  ; 
But  the  sixth  time  we  had  them  we  kept  them,  and 

with  them  a  share  of  their  men. 

Our  colonel  who  led  us  dismounted,  high  on  a  cannon 
he  sprang; 

Over  the  noise  of  our  shouting  clearly  his  joyous  words 

rang; 

'  These  are  our  own  brazen  beauties!     Here  to  Amer 
ica's  cause 

I  dedicate  each,  and  to  freedom ! — foes  to  King  George 
and  his  laws!  " 

Worn  as  we  were  with  the    struggle,   wounded  and 
bleeding  and  sore, 


24  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Some  stood  all  pale  and  exhausted;   some  lay  there 

stiff  in  their  gore; 
And  round  through  the  mass  went  a  murmur,   that 

grew  to  a  whispering  clear, 
And    then    to    reproaches    outspoken  — "  If   General 

Arnold  were  here!  " 

For  Gates,  in  his  folly  and  envy,  had  given  the  chief 

no  command, 
And  far  in  the  rear  some  had  seen  him  horseless  and 

moodily  stand, 
Knitting  his  forehead  in  anger,  gnawing  his  red  lip  in 

pain, 
Fretting  himself  like  a  bloodhound  held  back  from  his 

prey  by  a  chain. 

Hark,  at  our  right  there  is  cheering!  there  is  the  ruffle 

of  drums! 
Here  is  the  well-known  brown  charger!     Spurring  it 

madly  he  comes! 
Learned's    brigade  have  espied  him,  rending  the  air 

with  a  cheer; 
Woe  to  the  terrified  foeman,  now  that  our  leader  is 

here! 

Piercing  the  tumult  behind  him,  Armstrong  is  out  on 

his  track; 
Gates  has  dispatched  his  lieutenant  to  summon  the 

fugitive  back. 
Armstrong   might   summon    the    tempest,  order   the 

whirlwind  to  stay, 
Issue  commands  to  the  earthquake — would  they  the 

mandate  obey  ? 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  2$ 

Wounds,  they  were  healed  in  a  moment !  weariness  in 
stantly  gone! 

Forward  he  pointed  his  sabre — led  us, not  ordered  us  on. 

Down  on  the  Hessians  we  thundered,  he,  like  a  mad 
man  ahead ; 

Vainly  they  strove  to  withstand  us;  raging,  they  shiv 
ered  and  fled. 

On  to  their  earthworks  we  drove  them,  shaking  with 

ire  and  dismay; 
There  they  made  stand  with  a  purpose  to  beat  back 

the  tide  of  the  day. 
Onward  we  followed,  then  faltered;  deadly  their  balls 

whistled  free. 
Where    was    our   death-daring   leader  ?     Arnold,   our 

hope,  where  was  he  ? 

He-?     He  was  everywhere  riding!  hither  and  thither 

his  form, 
On  the  brown  charger  careering,  showed  us  the  path 

of  the  storm ; 

Over  the  roar  of  the  cannon,  over  the  musketry's  crash, 
Sounded  his  voice,  while  his  sabre  lit  up  the  way  with 

its  flash. 

Throwing  quick  glances  around  him,  reining  a  moment 

his  steed — 
1  Brooks,  that  redoubt!  "  was  his  order;  "  let  the  rest 

follow  my  lead! 
Mark  where  the  smoke-cloud  is  parting!  see  where  the 

gun-barrels  glance! 
Livingston,  forward!    On,  Wesson,  charge  them !    Let 

Morgan  advance!  " 


26  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRATERY 

'  Forward!"  he  shouted,  and,   spurring  on  through 

the  sally-port  then, 
Fell  sword  in  hand  on  the  Hessians,  closely  behind  him 

our  men. 
Back  shrank  the  foemen  in  terror;  off  went  their  forces 

pellmell, 
Firing  one  Parthian  volley ;  struck  by  it,  Arnold,  he  fell. 

Ours  was  the  day.     Up  we  raised  him ;  spurted  the 

blood  from  his  knee — 
'  Take  my  cravat,  boys,  and  bind  it ;  I  am  not  dead 

yet,"  said  he. 
What  !  did  you  follow  me,  Armstrong  ?     Pray,  do 

you  think  it  quite  right, 

Leaving  your  duties  out  yonder,  to  risk  your  dear  self 
in  the  fight  ?  " 

"  General  Gates  sent  his  orders" — faltering  the  aid- 
de-camp  spoke — 

'  You  're  to  return,  lest  some  rashness — "     Fiercely 
the  speech  Arnold  broke: 

;<  Rashness!     Why,  yes,  tell  the  general  the  rashness 
he  dreaded  is  done! 

Tell  him  his  kinsfolk  are  beaten !  tell  him  the  battle  is 
won!  " 

Oh,  that  a  soldier  so  glorious,  ever  victorious  in  fight, 
Passed    from    a  daylight   of   honor   into    the  terrible 

night! — 
Fell  as  the  mighty  archangel,  ere  the  earth  glpwed  in 

space,  fell- — 
Fell  from  the  patriot's  heaven  down .  to  the  loyalist's 

hell ! 

THOMAS  DUNN  ENGLISH. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  Harper  and  Brothers.) 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  27 

7 
THE  YANKEE  MAN-OF-WAR 

'T  IS  of  a  gallant  Yankee  ship  that  flew  the  Stripes 

and  Stars, 
And  the  whistling  wind  from  the  west-nor'-west  blew 

through  the  pitch-pine  spars, — 
With  her  starboard  tacks  a-board,  my  boys,  she  hung 

upon  the  gale, 
On  an  autumn  night  we  raised  the  light  on  the  old 

head  of  Kinsale. 

It  was  a  clear  and  cloudless  night,  and  the  wind  blew 

steady  and  strong, 
As  gaily  over  the  sparkling  deep  our  good  ship  bowled 

along ; 
With  the  foaming  seas  beneath  her  bow  the  fiery  waves 

she  spread, 
And  bending  low  her  bosom  of  snow,  she  buried  her 

lee  cathead. 

There  was  no  talk  of  shortening  sail  by  him  who  walked 

the  poop, 
And  under  the  press  of  her  pondering  jib,  the  boom 

bent  like  a  hoop! 
And  the  groaning  waterways  told  the  strain  that  held 

her  stout  main-tack, 
But  he  only  laughed  as  he  glanced  abaft  at  the  white 

and  silvery  track. 

The  mid-tide   meets  in  the  channel  waves  that  flow 

from  shore  to  shore, 
And  the  mist  hung  heavy  upon  the  land  from  Feather* 

stone  to  Dumnore; 


28  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

And  that  sterling  light  on  Tusker  rock,  where  the  old 

bell  tolls  the  hour, 
And    the    beacon    light    that    shone    so    bright    was 

quenched  on  Waterford  tower. 

The  nightly  robes  our  good  ship  wore  were  her  three 

topsails  set, 
The  spanker  and  her  standing  jib,  the  spanker  being 

fast; 
"  Now,  lay  aloft,  my  heroes  bold,  let  not  a  moment 

pass!  " 
And  royals  and  topgallant  sails  were  quickly  on  each 

mast. 

What  looms  upon  the  starboard  bow  ?     What  hangs 

upon  the  breeze  ? 
'T  is  time  our  good  ship  hauled  her  wind  abreast  the 

old  Saltees; 
For  by  her  ponderous  press  of  sail  and  by  her  consorts 

four 
We  saw  our  morning  visitor  was  a  British  man-of-war. 

Up  spoke  our  noble  captain  then,  as  a  shot  ahead  of 

us  passed, 
'  Haul  snug  your  flowing  courses,  lay  your  topsail  to 

the  mast!  " 
The    Englishmen  gave  three  loud   hurrahs  from  the 

deck  of  their  covered  ark, 
And  we  answered  back  by  a  solid  broadside  from  the 

decks  of  our  patriot  bark. 

"Out,    booms!      Out,    booms!"    our   skipper   cried, 
"  Out,  booms,  and  give  her  sheet!  " 


IN  TIME   OF  STKIFE  2$ 

And   the  swiftest   keel   that  ever  was  launched  shot 

ahead  of  the  British  fleet. 
And  amidst  a  thundering  shower  of  shot,  with  stunsails 

hoisting  away, 
Down  the  North  Channel  Paul  Jones  did  steer,  just  at 

the  break  of  day. 

ANONYMOUS. 


8 
THE  RIDE  OF  JENNIE  M'NEAL 

PAUL  REVERE  was  a  rider  bold — 
Well  has  his  valorous  deed  been  told ; 
Sheridan's  ride  was  a  glorious  one — 
Often  has  it  been  dwelt  upon. 
But  why  should  men  do  all  the  deeds 
On  which  the  love  of  a  patriot  feeds  ? 
Hearken  to  me,  while  I  reveal 
The  dashing  ride  of  Jennie  M'Neal. 

On  a  spot  as  pretty  as  might  be  found 

In  the  dangerous  length  of  the  Neutral  Ground, 

In  a  cottage,  cosy,  and  all  their  own, 

She  and  her  mother  lived  alone. 

Safe  were  the  two,  with  their  frugal  store, 

From  all  of  the  many  who  passed  their  door; 

For  Jennie's  mother  was  strange  to  fears, 

And  Jennie  was  large  for  fifteen  years; 

With  vim  her  eyes  were  glistening, 

Her  hair  was  the  hue  of  the  blackbird's  wing; 

And  while  the  friends  who  knew  her  well 

The  sweetness  of  her  heart  could  tell, 


3O  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

A  gun  that  hung  on  the  kitchen  wall 
Looked  solemnly  quick  to  heed  her  call; 
And  they  who  were  evil-minded  knew 
Her  nerve  was  strong  and  her  aim  was  true. 
So  all  kind  words  and  acts  did  deal 
To  generous,  black-eyed  Jennie  M'Neal. 

One  night  when  the  sun  had  crept  to  bed, 

And  rain  clouds  lingered  overhead, 

And  sent  their  surly  drops  for  proof 

To  drum  a  tune  on  the  cottage  roof, 

Close  after  a  knock  at  the  outer  door, 

There  entered  a  dozen  dragoons  or  more. 

Their  red  coats,  stained  by  the  muddy  road, 

That  they  were  British  soldiers  showed ; 

The  captain  his  hostess  bent  to  greet, 

Saying,  "  Madam,  please  give  us  a  bit  to  eat; 

We  will  pay  you  well,  and,  if  may  be, 

This  bright-eyed  girl  for  pouring  our  tea; 

Then  we  must  dash  ten  miles  ahead, 

To  catch  a  rebel  colonel  abed. 

He  is  visiting  home,  as  doth  appear; 

We  will  make  his  pleasure  cost  him  dear." 

And  they  fell  on  the  hasty  supper  with  zeal, 

Close-watched  the  while  by  Jennie  M'Neal. 

For  the  gray-haired  colonel  they  hovered  near 
Had  been  her  true  friend,  kind  and  dear; 
And  oft,  in  her  younger  days,  had  he 
Right  proudly  perched  her  upon  his  knee, 
And  told  her  stories  many  a  one 
Concerning  the  French  war  lately  done. 
And  oft  together  the  two  friends  were, 
And  many  the  arts  he  had  taught  to  her; 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  3! 

She  had  hunted  by  his  fatherly  side, 
He  had  shown  her  how  to  fence  and  ride; 
And  once  had  said,  "  The  time  may  be, 
Your  skill  and  courage  may  stand  by  me." 
So  sorrow  for  him  she  could  but  feel, 
Brave,  grateful-hearted  Jennie  M'Neal. 

With  never  a  thought  or  a  moment  more, 
Bare-headed  she  slipped  from  the  cottage  door, 
Ran  out  where  the  horses  were  left  to  feed, 
Unhitched  and  mounted  the  captain's  steed, 
And  down  the  hilly  and  rock-strewn  way 
She  urged  the  fiery  horse  of  gray. 
Around  her  slender  and  cloakless  form 
Pattered  and  moaned  the  ceaseless  storm ; 
Secure  and  tight,  a  gloveless  hand 
Grasped  the  reins  with  stern  command ; 
And  full  and  black  her  long  hair  streamed 
Whenever  the  ragged  lightning  gleamed. 
And  on  she  rushed  for  the  colonel's  weal, 
Brave,  lioness-hearted  Jennie  M'Neal. 

Hark! — From  the  hills,  a  moment  mute, 
Came  a  clatter  of  hoofs  in  hot  pursuit; 
And  a  cry  from  the  foremost  trooper  said, 
Halt,  or  your  blood  be  on  your  head!  " 
She  heeded  it  not,  and  not  in  vain 
She  lashed  the  horse  with  the  bridle  rein. 
So  into  the  night  the  gray  horse  strode; 
His  shoes  hewed  fire  from  the  rocky  road; 
And  the  highborn  courage  that  never  dies 
Flashed  from  the  rider's  coal-black  eyes. 
The  pebbles  flew  from  that  fearful  race; 
The  raindrops  grasped  at  her  glowing  face. 


32  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

"  On,  on,  brave  beast!  "  with  loud  appeal, 
Cried  eager,  resolute  Jennie  M'Neal. 

"  Halt!  "  once  more  came  the  voice  of  dread; 
'  Halt,  or  your  blood  be  on  your  head!  " 
Then,  no  one  answering  to  the  calls, 
Sped  after  her  a  volley  of  balls. 
They  passed  her  in  their  rapid  flight, 
They  screamed    to    her   left,   they    screamed   to   her 

right; 

But,  rushing  o'er  the  slippery  track, 
She  sent  no  token  of  answer  back, 
Except  a  silvery  laughter-peal, 
Brave,  merry-hearted  Jennie  M'Neal. 

So  on  she  rushed,  at  her  own  good  will, 

Through  wood  and  valley,  o'er  plain  and  hill; 

The  gray  horse  did  his  duty  well, 

Till  all  at  once  he  stumbled  and  fell, 

Himself  escaping  the  nets  of  harm, 

But  flinging  the  girl  with  a  broken  arm. 

Still  undismayed  by  the  numbing  pain, 

She  clung  to  the  horse's  bridle  rein, 

And  gently  bidding  him  to  stand, 

Petted  him  with  her  able  hand ; 

Then  sprung  again  to  the  saddlebow, 

And  shouted,  "  One  more  trial  now!  " 

As  if  ashamed  of  the  heedless  fall 

He  gathered  his  strength  once  more  for  all, 

And,  galloping  down  a  hillside  steep, 

Gained  on  the  troopers  at  every  leap; 

No  more  the  high-bred  steed  did  reel, 

But  ran  his  best  for  Jennie  M'Neal. 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  33 

They  were  a  furlong  behind,  or  more, 
When  the  girl  burst  through  the  colonel's  door, 
Her  poor  arm  hanging  helpless  with  pain, 
And  she  all  drabbled  and  drenched  with  rain, 
But  her  cheeks  as  red  as  firebrands  are, 
And  her  eyes  as  bright  as  a  blazing  star; 
And  shouted,  "  Quick,  be  quick,  I  say! 
They  come!  they  come! — away!  away!" 
Then  sunk  on  the  rude  white  floor  of  deal, 
Poor,  brave,  exhausted  Jennie  M'Neal. 

The  startled  colonel  sprung,  and  pressed 
The  wife  and  children  to  his  breast, 
And  turned  away  from  his  fireside  bright, 
And  glided  into  the  stormy  night; 
Then  soon  and  safely  made  his  way 
To  where  the  patriot  army  lay. 
But  first  he  bent,  in  the  dim  firelight, 
And  kissed  the  forehead  broad  and  white, 
And  blessed  the  girl  who  had  ridden  so  well 
To  keep  him  out  of  a  prison  cell. 
The  girl  roused  up  at  the  martial  din, 
Just  as  the  troopers  came  rushing  in, 
And  laughed,  e'en  in  the  midst  of  a  moan, 
Saying,  "  Good  sirs,  your  bird  has  flown. 
'T  is  I  who  have  scared  him  from  his  nest; 
So  deal  with  me  now  as  you  think  best." 
But  the  grand  young  captain  bowed,  and  said, 
'  Never  you  hold  a  moment's  dread. 
Of  womankind  I  must  crown  you  queen: 
So  brave  a  girl  I  have  never  seen. 
Wear  this  gold  ring  as  your  valor's  due, 
And  when  peace  comes  I  will  come  for  you." 


34  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

But  Jennie's  face  an  arch  smile  wore, 

As  she  said,  "  There  's  a  lad  in  Putnam's  corps 

Who  told  me  the  same,  long  time  ago; 

Yo.u  two  would  never  agree,  I  know. 

,      I  promised  my  love  to  be  true  as  steel," 
Said  good,  sure-hearted  Jennie  M'Neal. 

WILL  CARLETON. 

(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  Harper  and  Brothers.) 


9 

SONG  OF  MARION'S  MEN 

OUR  band  is  few,  but  true  and  tried, 

Our  leader  frank  and  bold  ; 
The  British  soldier  trembles 

When  Marion's  name  is  told. 
Our  fortress  is  the  good  greenwood, 

Our  tent  the  cypress  tree; 
We  know  the  forest  round  us 

As  seamen  know  the  sea; 
We  know  its  walls  of  thorny  vines, 

Its  glades  of  reedy  grass, 
Its  safe  and  silent  islands 

Within  the  dark  morass. 

Woe  to  the  English  soldiery 

That  little  dread  us  near! 
On  them  shall  light  at  midnight 

A  strange  and  sudden  fear; 
When,  waking  to  their  tents  on  fire, 

They  grasp  their  arms  in  vain, 
And  they  who  stand  to  face  us 

Are  beat  to  earth  again ; 


IN  TIME    OF  STRIFE  35 

And  they  who  fly  in  terror  deem 

A  mighty  host  behind, 
And  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands 

Upon  the  hollow  wind. 

Then  sweet  the  hour  that  brings  release 

From  danger  and  from  toil ; 
We  talk  the  battle  over, 

And  share  the  battle's  spoil. 
The  woodland  rings  with  laugh  and  shout 

As  if  a  hunt  were  up, 
And  woodland  flowers  are  gathered 

To  crown  the  soldier's  cup. 
With  merry  songs  we  mock  the  wind 

That  in  the  pine-top  grieves, 
And  slumber  long  and  sweetly 

On  beds  of  oaken  leaves. 

Well  knows  the  fair  and  friendly  moon 

The  band  that  Marion  leads — 
The  glitter  of  their  rifles, 

The  scampering  of  their  steeds. 
'T  is  life  to  guide  the  fiery  barb 

Across  the  moonlight  plain; 
'T  is  life  to  feel  the  night-wind 

That  lifts  his  tossing  mane. 
A  moment  in  the  British  camp — 

A  moment — and  away, 
Back  to  the  pathless  forest 

Before  the  peep  of  day. 

Grave  men  there  are  by  broad  Santee, 
Grave  men  with  hoary  hairs ; 


36  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Their  hearts  are  all  with  Marion, 

For  Marion  are  their  prayers. 
And  lovely  ladies  greet  our  band, 

With  kindest  welcoming, 
With  smiles  like  those  of  summer, 

And  tears  like  those  of  spring. 
For  them  we  wear  these  trusty  arms, 

And  lay  them  down  no  more 
Till  we  have  driven  the  Briton 

Forever  from  our  shore. 

WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


10 


HOW  WE  BURNED  THE  "  PHILADELPHIA" 

By  the  beard  of  the  Prophet  the  Bashaw  swore 

He  would  scourge  us  from  the  seas  ; 
Yankees  should  trouble  his  soul  no  more — 
By  the  Prophet's  beard  the  Bashaw  swore, 

Then  liglited  his  hookah,  and  took  his  ease, 
And  troubled  his  soul  no  more. 

THE  moon  was  dim  in  the  western  sky, 

And  a  mist  fell  soft  on  the  sea, 
As  we  slipped  away  from  the  Siren  brig 

And  headed  for  Tripoli. 

Behind  us  the  hulk  of  the  Siren  lay, 

Before  us  the  empty  night ; 
And  when  again  we  looked  behind 

The  Siren  was  gone  from  our  sight. 


IN  TIME  OF  STRIFE  37 

Nothing  behind  us,  and  nothing  before, 

Only  the  silence  and  rain, 
As  the  jaws  of  the  sea  took  hold  of  our  bows 

And  cast  us  up  again. 

Through  the  rain  and  the  silence  we  stole  along, 

Cautious  and  stealthy  and  slow, 
For  we  knew- the  waters  were  full  of  those 

Who  might  challenge  the  Mastico, 

But  nothing  we  saw  till  we  saw  the  ghost 

Of  the  ship  we  had  come  to  see, 
Her  ghostly  lights  and  her  ghostly  frame 

Rolling  uneasily. 

And  as  we  looked,  the  mist  drew  up 

And  the  moon  threw  off  her  veil, 
And  we  saw  the  ship  in  the  pale  moonlight, 

Ghostly  and  drear  and  pale. 

Then  spoke  Decatur  low  and  said : 

"  To  the  bulwarks'  shadow  all! 
But  the  six  who  wear  the  Tripoli  dress 

Shall  answer  the  sentinel's  call." 

"  What  ship  is  that  ? "  cried  the  sentinel. 

"  No  ship,"  was  the  answer  free; 
"  But  only  a  Malta  ketch  in  distress 

Wanting  to  moor  in  your  lee. 

"  We  have  lost  our  anchor,  and  wait  for  day 

To  sail  into  Tripoli  town, 
And  the  sea  rolls  fierce  and  high  to-night, 

So  cast  a  cable  down." 


38  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAX  BRAVERY 

Then  close  to  the  frigate's  side  we  came, 
Made  fast  to  her  unforbid — 

Six  of  us  bold  in  the  heathen  dress, 
The  rest  of  us  lying  hid. 

But  one  who  saw  us  hiding  there 

"  Americano  !  "  cried. 
Then  straight  we  rose  and  made  a  rush 

Pellmell  up  the  frigate's  side. 

Less  than  a  hundred  men  were  we, 
And  the  heathen  were  twenty  score; 

But  a  Yankee  sailor  in  those  old  days 
Liked  odds  of  one  to  four. 

And  first  we  cleaned  the  quarter  deck, 
And  then  from  stern  to  stem 

We  charged  into  our  enemies 
And  quickly  slaughtered  them. 

All  around  was  the  dreadful  sound 
Of  corpses  striking  the  sea, 

And  the  awful  shrieks  of  dying  men 
In  their  last  agony. 

The  heathen  fought  like  devils  all, 

But  one  by  one  they  fell, 
Swept  from  the  deck  by  our  cutlasses 

To  the  water,  and  so  to  hell. 

Some  we  found  in  the  black  of  the  hold, 

Some  to  the  fo'c's'le  fled, 
But  all  in  vain ;  we  sought  them  out 

And  left  them  lying  deadj 


IAT  TIME   OF  STRIFE  39 

Till  at  last  no  soul  but  Christian  souls 

Upon  that  ship  was  found; 
The  twenty  score  were  dead,  and  we, 

The  hundred,  safe  and  sound. 

And,  stumbling  over  the  tangled  dead, 

The  deck  a  crimson  tide, 
We  fired  the  ship  from  keel  to  shrouds 

And  tumbled  over  the  side. 

Then  out  to  sea  we  sailed  once  more, 

With  the  world  as  light  as  day, 
And  the  flames  revealed  a  hundred  sail 

Of  the  heathen  there  in  the  bay. 

All  suddenly  the  red  light  paled, 

And  the  rain  rang  out  on  the  sea; 
Then — a  dazzling  flash,  a  deafening  roar, 

Between  us  and  Tripoli ! 

Then,  nothing  behind  us,  and  nothing  before, 

Only  the  silence  and  rain; 
And  the  jaws  of  the  sea  took  hold  of  our  bows 

And  cast  us  up  again. 

By  the  beard  of  the  Prophet  the  Bashaw  swore 

He  would  scourge  us  from  the  seas  ; 
Yankees  should  trouble  his  soul  no  more — 
By  the  Prophet's  beard  the  Bashaw  swore. 

Then  lighted  his  hookah,  and  took  his  ease, 
And  troubled  his  soul  no  more. 

BARRETT  EASTMAN. 

(By  special  permission  of  the  author.) 


4O  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

<•••••  II 

THE  "  SHANNON  "  AND  THE  "  CHESA- 
PEAKE" 

THE  captain  of  the  Shannon  came  sailing  up  the  bay, 
A  reeling  wind  flung  out  behind  his  pennons  bright 

and  gay ; 
His  cannon  crashed  a  challenge;  the  smoke  that  hid 

the  sea 
Was  driven  hard  to  windward  and  drifted  back  to  lee. 

The  captain  of  the  Shannon  sent  word  into  the  town : 
Was  Lawrence  there,  and  would  he  dare  to  sail  his 

frigate  down 
And  meet  him  at  the  harbor's  mouth  and  fight  him, 

gun  to  gun, 
For  honor's  sake,  with  pride  at  stake,  until  the  fight 

was  won  ? 

Now,  long  the  gallant  Lawrence  had  scoured  the  bitter 

main; 
With  many  a  scar  and  wound  of  war  his  ship  was  home 

again ; 
His  crew,  relieved  from  service,  were  scattered  far  and 

wide, 
And  scarcely  one,  his  duty  done,  had  lingered  by  his 

side. 

But  to  refuse  the  challenge  ?     Could   he  outlive  the 

shame  ? 
Brave  men  and  true,  but  deadly  few,  he  gathered  to 

his  fame. 


IN  TIME    OF  STRIFE  41 

Once  more  the  great  ship  Chesapeake  prepared  her  for 

the  fight, — 

"  I  '11  bring  the  foe  to  town  in  tow,"  he  said,  "  before 
to-night!  " 

High  on  the  hills  of  Hingham  that  overlook  the  shore, 
To  watch  the  fray  and  hope  and  pray,  for  they  could 

do  no  more, 
The  children  of  the  country  watched  the  children  of 

the  sea 
When  the  smoke  drove  hard  to  windward  and  drifted 

back  to  lee. 

'  How  can  he  fight,"  they  whispered,  "  with  only  half 

a  crew, 
Though  they  be  rare  to  do  and  dare,  yet  what  can 

brave  men  do  ?  " 
But  when  the  Chesapeake  came  down,  the  Stars  and 

Stripes  on  high, 
Stilled  was  each  fear,  and  cheer  on  cheer  resounded  to 

the  sky. 

The  captain  of  the  Shannon,  he  swore  both  long  and 

loud : 
'  This  victory,  where'er  it  be,  shall  make  two  nations 

proud ! 

Now  onward  to  this  victory  or  downward  to  defeat! 
A  sailor's  life  is  sweet  with  strife,  a  sailor's  death  as 

sweet." 

And  as   when   lightnings  rend  the  sky  and  gloomy 

thunders  roar, 
And  crashing  surge  plays  devil's  dirge  upon  the  stricken, 

shore, 


42  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

With  thunder  and  with  sheets  of  flame  the  two  ships 

rang  with  shot, 
And  every  gun  burst  forth  a  sun  of  iron  crimson-hot. 

And  twice  they  lashed  together  and  twice  they  tore 

apart, 
And  iron  balls  burst  wooden  walls  and  pierced  each 

oaken  heart. 
Still  from  the  hills   of   Hingham  men  watched  with 

hopes  and  fears, 
While  all  the  bay  was  torn  that  day  with  shot  that 

rained  like  tears. 

The  tall  masts  of  the  Chesapeake  went  groaning  by  the 

board ; 
The  Shannon  s  spars  were  weak  with  scars  when  Broke 

cast  down  his  sword  : 
"  Now  woe,'.'  he  cried,  "  to  England,  and  shame  and 

woe  to  me!  " 
The  smoke  drove  hard  to  windward  and  drifted  back 

to  lee. 

"  Give  them  one  breaking  broadside  more,"  he  cried, 

"  before  we  strike!  " 
But  one  grim  ball  that  ruined  all  for  hope  and  home 

alike 

Laid  Lawrence  low  in  glory,  yet  from  his  pallid  lip 
Rang  to  the  land  his  last  command  :  "  Boys,  don't  give 

up  the  ship!  " 

The  wounded  wept  like  women  when  they  hauled  her 

ensign  down. 
Men's  cheeks  were  pale  as  with  the  tale  from  Hi 

to  the  town 


Iff  TIME    OF  STRIFE  43 

They  hurried  swift  in  silence,  while  toward  the  eastern 

night 
The  victor  bore  away  from  shore  and  vanished  out  of 

sight. 

Hail  to  the  great  ship  Chesapeake  !     Hail  to  the  hero 

brave 
Who  fought  her  fast,  and  loved  her  last,  and  shared 

her  sudden  grave! 

And  glory  be  to  those  that  died,  for  all  eternity; 
They  lie  apart  at  the  mother-heart  of  God's  eternal  sea. 

THOMAS  TRACY  Bouvfe. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  The  Youth's  Companion.) 


12 


THE  FIGHT  OF  THE  "ARMSTRONG" 
PRIVATEER 

TELL  the  story  to  your  sons 

Of  the  gallant  days  of  yore, 
When  the  brig  of  seven  guns 

Fought  the  fleet  of  seven  score, 

From  the  set  of  sun  till  morn,  through  the  long  Sep 
tember  night — 

Ninety  men  against  two  thousand,  and  the  ninety  won 
the  fight 

In  the  harbor  of  Fayal  the  Azore. 

Three  lofty  British  ships  came  a-sailing  to  Fayal: 
One  was  a  line-of-battle  ship,  and  two  were  frigates 
tall; 


44  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Nelson's  valiant  men  of  war,  brave  as  Britons  ever  are, 
Manned  the  guns  they  served  so  well  at  Aboukir  and 

Trafalgar. 

Lord  Dundonald  and  his  fleet  at  Jamaica  far  away 
Waited  eager  for  their  coming,   fretted  sore  at  their 

delay. 

There  was  loot  for  British  valor  on  the  Mississippi  coast 
In  the  beauty  and  the  booty  that   the  Creole  cities 

boast ; 
There  were  rebel  knaves  to  swing,  there  were  prisoners 

to  bring 
Home  in  fetters  to  old  England  for  the  glory  of  the 

King! 

At  the  setting  of  the  sun  and  the  ebbing  of  the  tide 
Came  the  great  ships  one  by  one,  with  their  portals 

opened  wide, 
And  their  cannon  frowning  down  on  the  castle  and  the 

town 

And  the  privateer  that  lay  close  inside ; 
Came  the  eighteen- gun  Carnation,  and  the  Rota,  forty- 

four, 
And  the  triple-decked  Plant 'agenet an  Admiral's  pennon 

bore ; 
And    the   privateer   grew    smaller   as   their   topmasts 

towered  taller, 
And  she  bent  her  springs  and  anchored  by  the  castle 

on  the  shore. 

Spoke  the  noble  Portuguese  to  the  stranger:  "  Have 

no  fear; 
They  are  neutral  waters  these,  and  your  ship  is  sacred 

here 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  45 

As  if  fifty  stout  armadas  stood  to  shelter  you  from 
harm, 

For  the  honor  of  the  Briton  will  defend  you  from  his 
arm." 

But  the  privateersman  said,  "  Well  we  know  the  Eng 
lishmen, 

And  their  faith  is  written  red  in  the  Dartmoor  slaughter- 
pen. 

Come  what  fortune  God  may  send,  we  will  fight  them 
to  the  end, 

And  the  mercy  of  the  sharks  may  spare  us  then." 

"  Seize  the  pirate  where  she  lies!  "  cried  the  English 

Admiral : 
If  the    Portuguese   protect    her,   all  the  worse    for 

Portugal!" 
And  four  launches  at  his  bidding  leaped  impatient  for 

the  fray, 
Speeding  shoreward  where  the  Armstrong,  grim  and 

dark  and  ready,  lay. 
Twice  she  hailed   and   gave  them    warning;  but  the 

feeble  menace  scorning, 
On  they  came  in  splendid  silence,  till  a  cable's  length 

away. 
Then  the  Yankee  pivot  spoke;  Pico's  thousand  echoes 

woke; 
And  four  baffled,  beaten  launches  drifted  helpless  on 

the  bay. 

Then  the  wrath  of  Lloyd  arose  till  the  lion  roared  again, 
And  he  called  out  all  his  launches  and  he  called  five 

hundred  men; 
And  he  gave  the  word  "  No  quarter!  "  and  he  sent 

them  forth  to  smite. 


46  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Heaven  help  the  foe  before  him  when  the  Briton  comes 
in  might! 

Heaven  helped  the  little  Armstrong  in  her  hour  of  bit 
ter  need ; 

God  Almighty  nerved  the  heart  and  guided  well  the 
arm  of  Reid. 

Launches  to  port  and  starboard,  launches  forward  and 

aft, 

Fourteen  launches  together  striking  the  little  craft. 
They  hacked  at  the  boarding-nettings,  they  swarmed 

above  the  rail ; 

But  the  Long  Tom  roared  from  his  pivot  and  the  grape- 
shot  fell  like  hail; 
Pike  and  pistol  and  cutlass,  and  hearts  that  knew  not 

fear, 

Bulwarks  of  brawn  and  mettle,  guarded  the  privateer. 
And  ever  where  fight  was  fiercest  the  form  of  Reid 

was  seen : 

Ever  where  foes  drew  nearest,  his  quick  sword  fell  be 
tween. 

Once  in  the  deadly  strife 

The  boarder's  leader  pressed 
Forward  of  all  the  rest 
Challenging  life  for  life; 

But  ere  their  blades  had  crossed 
A  dying  sailor  tossed 
His  pistol  to  Reid,  and  cried, 
"  Now  riddle  the  lubber's  hide! 
But  the  privateersman  laughed,  and  flung  the  weapon 

aside, 

And  he  drove  his  blade  to  the  hilt,  and  the  foeman 
gasped  and  died. 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  47 

Then  the  boarders  took  to  their  launches,  laden  with 

hurt  and  dead, 
But  little  with  glory  burdened,  and  out  of  the  battle 

fled. 

Now  the  tide  was  at  flood  again,  and  the  night  was 

almost  done, 
When  the  sloop-of-war  came  up  with  her  odds  of  two 

to  one, 
And  she  opened  fire ;  but  the  Armstrong  answered  her, 

gun  for  gun, 
And  the  gay  Carnation  wilted  in  half  an  hour  of  sun. 

Then  the  Armstrong,  looking  seaward,  saw  the  mighty 

seventy-four, 
With  her  triple  tier  of  cannon,  drawing  slowly  to  the 

shore. 
And  the  dauntless  captain  said:  "  Take  our  wounded 

and  our  dead, 
Bear  them  tenderly  to  land,  for  the  Armstrong's  days 

are  o'er; 
But  no  foe  shall  tread  her  deck,  and  no  flag  above  it 

wave — 

To  the  ship  that  saved  our  honor  we  will  give  a  ship- 
man's  grave." 
So  they  did  as  he  commanded,  and  they  bore  their 

mates  to  land 
With  the  figurehead  of  Armstrong  and  the  good  sword 

in  his  hand. 
Then  they  turned  the  Long  Tom  downward,  and  they 

pierced  her  oaken  side, 
And  they  cheered  her,  and  they  blessed  her,  and  they 

sunk  her  in  the  tide. 


48  BALLADS,    OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Tell  the  story  to  your  sons, 

When  the  haughty  stranger  boasts 
Of  his  mighty  ships  and  guns 
And  the  muster  of  his  hosts, 
How  the  word  of  God  was  witnessed  in  the  gallant 

days  of  yore 

When  the  twenty  fled  from  one  ere  the  rising  of  the 
sun, 

In  the  harbor  of  Fayal  the  Azore! 

JAMES  JEFFREY  ROCHE. 

(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  and 
Company.) 

'3 

THE  MEN  OF  THE  ALAMO 

To  Houston  at  Gonzales  town,  ride,  Ranger,  for  your 

life, 
Nor  stop  to  say  good-by  to-day  to  home,  or  child,  or 

wife; 
But  pass  the  word  from  ranch  to  ranch,  to  every  Texan 

sword, 
That  fifty  hundred  Mexicans  have  crossed  the  Nueces 

ford, 

With  Castrillon  and  perjured  Cos,  Sesmd.  and  Almonte, 
And  Santa  Anna  ravenous  for  vengeance  and  for  prey  ! 
They  smite  the  land  with  fire  and  sword ;  the  grass 

shall  never  grow 
Where  northward   sweeps  that  locust  horde  on  San 

Antonio! 

Now  who  will  bar  the  foeman's  path,  to  gain  a  breath 
ing  space, 

Till  Houston  and  his  scattered  men  shall  meet  him 
face  to  face  ? 


IN  TIME  OF  STRIFE  49 

Who  holds  his  life  as  less  than  naught  when  home  and 

honor  call, 

And  counts  the  guerdon  full  and  fair  for  liberty  to  fall  ? 
Oh,  who  but  Barrett  Travis,  the  bravest  of  them  all ! 
With   seven   score   of  riflemen   to  play  the  rancher's 

game, 
And  feed  a  counter-fire  to  halt  the  sweeping  prairie 

flame; 
For  Bowie  of  the  broken  blade  is  there  to  cheer  them 

on, 

With  Evans  of  Concepcion,  who  conquered  Castrillon, 
And  o'er  their  heads  the  Lone  Star  flag  defiant  floats 

on  high, 
And  no  man  thinks  of  yielding,  and  no  man  fears  to  die. 

But  ere  the  siege  is  held  a  week  a  cry  is  heard  without, 
A  clash  of  arms,   a  rifle  peal,   the  Ranger's  ringing 

shout, 
And  two-and-thirty  beardless  boys  have  bravely  hewed 

their  way 
To  die  with  Travis  if  they  must,  to  conquer  if  they 

may. 

Was  ever  valor  held  so  cheap  in  Glory's  mart  before 
In  all  the  days  of  chivalry,  in  all  the  deeds  of  war  ? 
But  once  again  the  foemen  gaze  in  wonderment  and  fear 
To  see  a  stranger  break  their  lines  and  hear  the  Texans 

cheer. 
God !  how  they  cheered  to  welcome  him,  those  spent 

and  starving  men! 
For  Davy  Crockett  by  their  side  was  worth  an  army 

then. 
The   wounded   ones  forgot  their  wounds;   the  dying 

drew  a  breath 

4 


50  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

To  hail  the  king  of  border  men,  then  turned  to  laugh 

at  death. 
For  all  knew  Davy  Crockett,  blithe  and  generous  as 

bold, 
And  strong  and  rugged  as  the  quartz  that  hides  its 

heart  of  gold. 

His  simple  creed  for  word  or  deed  true  as  the  bullet  sped,' 
And  rung  the  target  straight:  "  Be  sure  you  're  right, 

then  go  ahead  !  " 

And  were  they  right  who  fought  the  fight  for  Texas 

by  his  side  ? 
They  questioned   not;    they   faltered  not;  they  only 

fought  and  died. 
Who  hath  an  enemy  like  these,  God's  mercy  slay  him 

straight ! — 
A  thousand  Mexicans  lay  dead  outside  the  convent 

gate, 
And  half  a  thousand  more  must  die  before  the  fortress 

falls, 
And    still    the   tide   of   war    beats    high    around    the 

leaguered  walls. 
At  last  the  bloody  breach  is  won ;  the  weakened  lines 

give  way ; 
The  wolves  are  swarming  in  the  court ;  the  lions  stand 

at  bay. 
The  leader  meets  them  at  the  breach,  and  wins  the 

soldier's  prize; 
A  foeman's  bosom  sheathes  his  sword  when  gallant 

Travis  dies. 

Now  let  the  victor  feast  at  will  until  his  crest  be  red — 
We  may  not  know  what  raptures  fill  the  vulture  with 

the  dead. 


IN  TIME    OF  STRIFE  5 1 

Let  Santa  Anna's  valiant  sword  right  bravely  hew  and 

hack 
The  senseless  corse;  its  hands  are  cold;  they  will  not 

strike  him  back. 
Let   Bowie  die,   but   'ware  the  hand  that  wields  his 

deadly,  knife; 
Four  went  to  slay,  and  one  comes  back,  so  dear  he 

sells  his  life. 
And  last  of  all  let  Crockett  fall,  too  proud  to  sue  for 

grace, 
So  grand  in  death  the  butcher  dared  not  look  upon  his 

face. 

But  far  on  San  Jacinto's  field  the  Texan  toils  are  set, 
And   Alamo's   dread    memory  the  Texan  steel  shall 

whet. 
And  Fame  shall  tell  their  deeds  who  fell  till  all  the 

years  be  run. 

"  Thermopylae  left  one  alive — the  Alamo  left  none." 

JAMES  JEFFREY  ROCHE. 

(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  and 
Company.) 

14 

THE  FIGHT  AT  THE  SAN  JACINTO 

"  Now  for  a  brisk  and  a  cheerful  fight!  " 

Said  Harman,  big  and  droll, 
As  he  coaxed  his  flint  and  steel  for  a  light, 

And  puffed  at  his  cold  clay  bowl; 

For  we  are  a  skulking  lot,"  says  he, 

Of  land-thieves  hereabout, 
And  the  bold  seflores,  two  to  one, 

Have  come  tQ  smoke  us  out," 


52  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Santa  Anna  and  Castrillon, 

Almonte  brave  and  gay, 
Portilla  red  from  Goliad, 

And  Cos  with  his  smart  array. 
Dulces  and  cigaritos, 

And  the  light  guitar,  ting-turn! 
Sant'  Anna  courts  siesta — 

And  Sam  Houston  taps  his  drum. 


The  buck  stands  still  in  the  timber— 

"  Is  it  patter  of  nuts  that  fall  ?  " 
The  foal  of  the  wild  mare  whinnies — 

"  Did  he  hear  the  Comanche  call  ?  " 
In  the  brake  by  the  crawling  bayou 

The  slinking  she-wolves  howl, 
And  the  mustang's  snort  in  the  river  sedge 

Has  startled  the  paddling  fowl. 

A  soft  low  tap,  and  a  muffled  tap, 

And  a  roll  not  loud  nor  long — 
We  would  not  break  Sant'  Anna's  nap, 

Nor  spoil  Almonte's  song. 
Saddles  and  knives  and  rifles! 

Lord  !  but  the  men  were  glad 
When  Deaf  Smith  muttered  "  Alamo!  " 

And  Karnes  hissed  "  Goliad!  " 


The  drummer  tucked  his  sticks  in  his  belt, 
And  the  fifer  gripped  his  gun. 

Oh,  for  one  free,  wild  Texan  yell, 
And  we  took  the  slope  in  a  run ! 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  53 

But  never  a  shout  nor  a  shot  we  spent, 
Nor  an  oath  nor  a  prayer  that  day, 

Till  we  faced  the  bravos,  eye  to  eye, 
And  then  we  blazed  away. 

Then  we  knew  the  rapture  of  Ben  Milam, 

And  the  glory  that  Travis  made, 
With  Bowie's  lunge  and  Crockett's  shot, 

And  Fannin's  dancing  blade; 
And  the  heart  of  the  fighter,  bounding  free 

In  his  joy  so  hot  and  mad — 
When  Millard  charged  for  Alamo, 

Lamar  for  Goliad. 

Deaf  Smith  rode  straight,  with  reeking  spur, 

Into  the  shock  and  rout: 
'  I  've  hacked  and  burned  the  bayou  bridge, 

There  's  no  sneak's  back-way  out!  " 
Muzzle  or  butt  for  Goliad, 

Pistol  and  blade  and  fist! 
Oh,  for  the  knife  that  never  glanced, 

And  the  gun  that  never  missed! 

Dulces  and  cigaritos, 

Song  and  the  mandolin! 
That  gory  swamp  was  a  gruesome  grove 

To  dance  fandangos  in. 
We  bridged  the  bog  with  the  sprawling  herd 

That  fell  in  that  frantic  rout; 
We  slew  and  slew  till  the  sun  set  red, 

And  the  Texan  star  flashed  out. 

JOHN  WILLIAMSON  PALMER. 

(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  Herbert  S.  Stone  and 
Company.) 


54  BALLADS   OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

15 

MONTEREY 

WE  were  not  many — we  who  stood 

Before  the  iron  sleet  that  day ; 
Yet  many  a  gallant  spirit  would 
Give  half  his  years  if  he  but  could 

Have  been  with  us  at  Monterey. 

Now  here,  now  there,  the  shot  it  hailed 

In  deadly  drifts  of  fiery  spray, 
Yet  not  a  single  soldier  quailed 
When  wounded  comrades  round  them  wailed 

Their  dying  shout  at  Monterey. 

And  on,  still  on,  our  column  kept, 

Through  walls  of  flame,  its  withering  way; 
Where  fell  the  dead  the  living  stept, 
Still  charging  on  the  guns  which  swept 
The  slippery  streets  of  Monterey. 

The  foe  himself  recoiled  aghast, 

When,  striking  where  he  strongest  lay, 
We  swooped  his  flanking  batteries  past, 
And,  braving  full  their  murderous  blast, 
Stormed  home  the  towers  of  Monterey. 

Our  banners  on  those  turrets  wave, 

And  there  our  evening  bugles  play, 
Where  orange  boughs  above  their  grave 
Keep  green  the  memory  of  the  brave 
Who  fought  and  fell  at  Monterey. 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  55 

We  are  not  many — we  who  pressed 
Beside  the  brave  who  fell  that  day; 

But  who  of  us  has  not  confessed 

He  'd  rather  share  their  warrior  rest 
Than  not  have  been  at  Monterey  ? 

CHARLES  FENNO  HOFFMAN. 

16 
THE   DEFENSE   OF   LAWRENCE 

ALL  night  upon  the  guarded  hill, 

Until  the  stars  were  low, 
Wrapped  round  as  with  Jehovah's  will, 

We  waited  for  the  foe ; 
All  night  the  silent  sentinels 

Moved  by  like  gliding  ghosts; 
All  night  the  fancied  warning  bells 

Held  all  men  to  their  posts. 

We  heard  the  sleeping  prairies  breathe, 

The  forest's  human  moans, 
The  hungry  gnashing  of  the  teeth 

Of  wolves  on  bleaching  bones; 
We  marked  the  roar  of  rushing  fires, 

The  neigh  of  frightened  steeds, 
The  voices  as  of  far-off  lyres 

Among  the  river  reeds. 

We  were  but  thirty-nine  who  lay 

Beside  our  rifles  then  ; 
We  were  but  thirty-nine,  and  they 

Were  twenty  hundred  men. 


56  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Our  lean  limbs  shook  and  reeled  about. 
Our  feet  were  gashed  and  bare, 

And  all  the  breezes  shredded  out 
Our  garments  in  the  air. 


They  came :  the  blessed  Sabbath  day, 

That  soothed  our  swollen  veins, 
Like  God's  sweet  benediction,  lay 

On  all  the  singing  plains; 
The  valleys  shouted  to  the  sun, 

The  great  woods  clapped  their  hands, 
And  joy  and  glory  seemed  to  run 

Like  rivers  through  the  lands. 

And  then  our  daughters  and  our  wives, 

And  men  whose  heads  were  white, 
Rose  sudden  into  kingly  lives 

And  walked  forth  to  the  fight ; 
And  we  drew  aim  along  our  guns 

And  calmed  our  quickening  breath, 
Then,  as  is  meet  for  Freedom's  sons, 

Shook  loving  hands  with  Death. 

And  when  three  hundred  of  the  foe 

Rode  up  in  scorn  and  pride, 
Whoso  had  watched  us  then  might  know 

That  God  was  on  our  side; 
For  all  at  once  a  mighty  thrill 

Of  grandeur  through  us  swept, 
And  strong  and  swiftly  down  the  hill 

Like  Gideons  we  leapt. 


IN  TIME    Of  STRIFE  57 

• 

And  all  throughout  tHat  Sabbath  day 

A  wall  of  fire  we  stood, 
And  held  the  baffled  foe  at  bay, 

And  streaked  the  ground  with  blood. 
And  when  the  sun  was  very  low 

They  wheeled  their  stricken  flanks, 
And  passed  on,  wearily  and  slow, 

Beyond  the  river  banks. 

Beneath  the  everlasting  stars 

We  bended  child-like  knees, 
And  thanked  God  for  the  shining  scars 

Of  His  large  victories. 
And  some,  who  lingered,  said  they  heard 

Such  wondrous  music  pass 
As  though  a  seraph's  voice  had  stirred 

The  pulses  of  the  grass. 

RICHARD  REALF. 

(From  Poems,  by  Richard  Realf.     Copyright,  Funk  and  Wagnalls 
Company,  1898.     By  special  permission.) 

17 

BLOOD  IS  THICKER  THAN  WATER 

EBBED  and  flowed  the  muddy  Pei-Ho  by  the  Gulf  of 

Pechi-Li, 

Near  its  waters  swung  the  yellow  dragon-flag; 
Past   the   batteries   of   China,    looking   westward   we 

could  see 

L^zy  junks  along  the  lazy  river  lag; 
Villagers    in    near-by    Ta-Kou    toiled    beneath    their 

humble  star, 
On  the  flats  the  ugly  mud-fort  lay  and  dreamed; 


58  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVER? 

While  the  Powhatan  swung  slowly  at  her  station  by 

the  bar, 
While  the  Toey-  Wan  with  Tattnall  onward  steamed. 

Lazy  East  and  lazy  river,  fort  of  mud  in  lazy  June, 
English  gunboats  through  the  waters  slowly  fare, 
With  the  dragon-flag  scarce  moving  in  the  lazy  after 
noon 

O'er  the  mud-heap  storing  venom  in  the  glare. 
We  were  on  our  way  to  Pekin,  to  the  Son  of  Heaven's 

throne, 

White  with  peace  was  all  our  mission  to  his  court ; 
Peaceful,  too,  the  English  vessels  on  the  turbid  waters 

strown, 
Seeking  passage  up  to  Pekin  past  the  fort. 

By  the  bar  lay  half  the  English,  while  the  rest  with 

gallant  Hope 

Wrestled  with  the  slipping  ebb-tide  up  the  stream; 
They    had    cleared    the   Chinese    irons,    reached    the 

doubled  chain  and  rope 

Where  the  ugly  mud-fort  scowled  upon  their  beam  ; — 
Crash!  the  heavens  split  asunder  with  the  thunder  of 

the  fight 

As  the  hateful  dragon  made  its  faith  a  mock; 
Every  cannon  spat  its  perfidy,  each  casemate  blazed 
its  spite,  , 

Dashing  down  upon  the  English,  shock  on  shock. 

In  his  courage  Rason  perished,  bold  McKenna  fought 

and  fell, 
Scores  were  dying  as  they  'd  lived,  like  valiant  men; 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  $9 

And  the  meteor  flag  that  upward  prayed  to  heaven 

from  that  hell 

Wept  below  for  those  who  ne'er  should  weep  again. 
Far  away  the   English    launches   near  the  Powhatan 

swung  slow, 

All  despairing,  useless,  out  of  reach  of  war, 
Saw  their  comrades  in  the  battle,  saw  them  reel  be 
neath  the  blow, 
Lying  helpless  'gainst  the  ebb-tide  by  the  bar. 

On  the  Toey-  Wan  stood  Tattnall,  Stephen  Trenchard 

at  his  side, — 

"  Old  Man  "  Tattnall,  he  who  dared  at  Vera  Cruz,— 
Saw  here,  crippled  by  the  cannon,  saw  there,  throttled 

by  the  tide, 

Men  of  English  blood  and  speech:  Could  he  refuse  ? 
14  I  '11  be  damned,"  says  he  to  Trenchard,  "  if '  Old  ' 

Tattnall  's  standing  by 

Seeing  white  men  butchered  here  by  such  a  foe! 
Where  's  my  barge  ?     No  side-arms,  mind  you !     See 

the  English  fight  and  die! 
Blood  is  thicker,  sir,  than  water.     Let  us  go!  " 

Quick  we  man  the  barge,  and  quicker  plunge  into  that 

devil's-brew — 

"  An  official  call,"  and  Tattnall  went  in  state: 
Trenchard  's  hurt,  our  flag  in  ribbons,  and  the  lunging 

boat  shot  through, 

Hart,  our  coxswain,  dies  beneath  the  Chinese  hate; 
But   the  cheers  those  English  give  us  as  we  gain  their 

Admiral's  ship 

Make   the   shattered    barge   and  weary  arms  seem 
light— 


60  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Then  the  rare  smile  from  "  Old  "  Tattnall  and  Hope's 

hearty  word  and  grip, 
Bleeding  though  he  was,  and  brave  in  hell's  despite. 

Tattnall  nods  and  we  go  forward,  find  a  gun  no  longer 

fought — 

What  is  peace  to  us,  when  all  its  crew  lie  dead  ? 
One  bright  English  lad  brings  powder  and  a  wounded 

man  brings  shot, 

And  we  scotch  that  Chinese  dragon,  tail  and  head. 
Hands  are  shaken,  faith  is  plighted,  sounds  our  cap 
tain's  cheery  call; 

In  a  borrowed  boat  we  speed  us  fast  and  far, 
And   the    Toey-Wan  and  Tattnall  down  the  ebb-tide 

slide  and  fall 
To  the  launches  lying  moaning  by  the  bar. 

Eager  for  an  English  vengeance,  battle  light  on  every 

face, 

See,  the  Clustered  Stars  lead  on  the  Triple  Cross! 
Cheering,   swinging  into   action,   valiant   Hope  takes 

heart  of  grace 

From  the  cannons'  cloudy  roar,  the  lanyards'  toss. 
How  they  fought,  those  fighting  English!  how  they 

cheered  the  Toey-  Wan, 
Cheered  our  sailors,  cheered  "  Old  "  Tattnall,  grim 

and  gray ! 

And  their  cheers  ring  down  the  ages  as  they  rang  be 
neath  the  sun 
.  O'er  those  bubbling,  troubled  waters  far  away. 

Ebbs  and   flows  the  muddy  Pei-Ho  by  the  Gulf  of 

Pechi-Li. 
Idly  floats  beside  the  stream  the  dragon-flag ; 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  6 1 

Past  the  batteries  of  China,  looking  westward  still  you 

see 

Lazy  junks  along  the  lazy  river  lag. 
Let  the  long,  long  years  drop  slowly  on  that  lost  and 

ancient  land, 

Ever  dear  one  scene  to  hearts  of  gallant  men : 
There  's  a  hand-clasp  and  a  heart-throb,  there  's  a 

word  we  understand — 
4  Blood  is  thicker,  sir,  than  water,"  now  as  then. 

WALLACE  RICE. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author.) 

18 
BETHEL 

WE  mustered  at  midnight,  in  darkness  we  formed, 
And  the  whisper  went  round  of  a  fort  to  be  stormed; 
But  no  drum-beat  had  called  us,  no  trumpet  we  heard, 
And  no  voice  of  command  but  our  colonel's  low  word — 
Column  !     Fonvard !  ' ' 

And  out,  through  the  mist  and  the  murk  of  the  morn, 
From  the  beaches  of  Hampton  our  barges  were  borne; 
And  we  heard  not  a  sound  save  the  sweep  of  the  oar, 
Till  the  word  of  our  colonel  came  up  from  the  shore — 
4 '  Column  !     Forward  !  ' ' 

With  hearts  bounding  bravely  and  eyes  all  alight, 

As  ye  dance  to  soft  music,  so  trod  we  that  night; 

Through  the  aisles  of  the  greenwood,  with  vines  over 
arched, 

Tossing   dew-drops   like  gems  from   our  feet,  as  we 
marched— 

' '  Column  !     Forward  !  ' ' 


62  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

As  ye  dance  with  the  damsels  to  viol  and  flute, 

So  we  skipped  from  the  shadows  and  mocked  their 

pursuit ; 
But  the  soft  zephyrs  chased  us,   with  scents  of  the 

morn, 
As   we   passed   by   the   hay  fields   and   green  waving 

corn — 

' '  Column  !     Forward  !  ' ' 

For  the  leaves  were  all  laden  with  fragrance  of  June, 
And  the  flowers  and  the  foliage  with  sweets  were  in 

tune; 

And  the  air  was  so  calm,  and  the  torest  so  dumb, 
That  we   heard  our  own   heart-beats  like  taps  of  a 

drum — 

' '  Column  !     Forward  !  ' ' 

Till  the  lull  of  the  lowlands  was  stirred  by  a  breeze, 
And  the  buskins  of  morn  brushed  the  tops  of  the  trees, 
And  the  glintings  of  glory  that  slid  from  her  track 
By  the  sheen  of  our  rifles  were  gayly  flung  back — 
' '  Column  !     Forward  !  ' ' 

And  the  woodlands  grew  purple  with  sunshiny  mist, 
And   the    blue-crested   hill-tops  with    rose-light  were 

kissed, 

And  the  earth  gave  her  prayers  to  the  sun  in  perfumes, 
Till  we  marched  as  through  gardens,  and  trampled  on 

blooms — 

' '  Column  !     Forward  !  ' ' 

Aye,    trampled    on    blossoms,    and    seared  the  sweet 

breath 
Of  the  greenwood  with  low-brooding  vapors  of  death; 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  63 

O'er  the  flowers  and  the  corn  we  were  borne  like  a 

blast, 

And  away  to  the  forefront  of  battle  we  passed — 
4  4  Column  !     Forward  !  ' ' 

For  the  cannon's  hoarse  thunder  roared  out  from  the 

glades, 

And  the  sun  was  like  lightning  on  banners  and  blades, 
When  the  long  line  of  chanting  Zouaves,  like  a  flood, 
From  the  green  of  the  woodlands  rolled,  crimson  as 

blood — 

' '  Column  !     Forward  /  ' ' 

While  the  sound  of  their  song,  like  the  surge  of  the 

seas, 

With  the  Star  Spangled  Banner  swelled  over  the  leas ; 
And  the  sword  of  Duryea,  like  a  torch,  led  the  way, 
Bearing  down  on  the  batteries  of  Bethel  that  day — 
Column  !     Forward  /  ' ' 

Through '  green-tasseled    cornfields  our  columns  were 

thrown, 

And  like  corn  by  the  red  scythe  of  fire  we  were  mown ; 
While  the  cannon's  fierce  plowings  new-furrowed  the 

plain, 

That  our  blood  might  be  planted  for  Liberty's  grain — 
4 '  Column  !     Forward  !  ' ' 

Oh,  the  fields  of  fair  June  have  no  lack  of  sweet  flowers. 
But  their  rarest  and  best  breathe  no  fragrance  like  ours! 
And  the  sunshine  of  June,  sprinkling  gold  on  the  corn, 
Hath  no  harvest  that  ripeneth  like  Bethel's  red  morn— 
* 4  Column  !  Forward  /  ' ' 


64  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

When  our  heroes,  like  bridegrooms,  with  lips  and  with 

breath 
Drank  the  first  kiss  of  Danger  and   clasped   her   in 

death ; 
And  the  heart  of  brave  Winthrop  grew  mute  as  his 

lyre, 

When  the  plumes  of  his  genius  lay  moulting  in  fire — 
' '  Column  !     Forward  !  ' ' 

Where  he  fell  shall  be  sunshine  as  bright  as  his  name, 
And  the  grass  where  he  slept  shall  be  green  as  his  fame ; 
For  the  gold  of  the  pen  arid  the  steel  of  the  sword 
Write  his  deeds,  in  his  blood,  on  the  land  he  adored — 
' '  Column  !     Forward  !  ' ' 

And  the  soul  of  our  comrade  shall  sweeten  the  air, 
And  the  flowers  and  the  grass-blades  his  memory  up 
bear; 

While  the  breath  of  his  genius,  like  music  in  leaves, 
With    the    corn-tassels    whispers,    and    sings    in    the 
sheaves — 

' '  Column  !     Forward  !  ' ' 

AUGUSTINE  JOSEPH  HICKEV  DUGANNE. 


19 
THE  CHARGE  BY  THE  FORD 

EIGHTY  and  nine,  with  their  captain, 
Rode  on  the  enemy's  track. 

Rode  in  the  gray  of  the  morning — 
Nine  of  the  ninety  came  back. 


IN  TIME  OF  STXIFE  65 

Slow  rose  the  mist  from  the  river, 

Lighter  each  moment  the  way; 
Careless  and  tearless  and  fearless 

Galloped  they  on  to  the  fray. 

Singing  in  tune,  how  the  scabbards 

Loud  on  the  stirrup-irons  rang! 
Clinked  as  the  men  rose  in  saddle, 

Fell,  as  they  sank,  with  a  clang. 

What  is  it  moves  by  the  river, 

Jaded,  and  weary,  and  weak  ? 
Graybacks, — a  cross  on  their  banner, — 

Yonder  the  foe  whom  they  seek. 

• 

Silence!  they  see  not,  they  hear  not, 

Tarrying  there  by  the  marge; 
Fonvard  !  draw  sabre  !  trot  !  gallop  ! 

Charge  !  like -a  hurricane — Charge  / 

Ah,  't  was  a  man-trap  infernal! — 

Fire  like  the  deep  pit  of  hell! 
Volley  on  volley  to  meet  them, 

Mixed  with  the  gray  rebels'  yell. 

Ninety  had  ridden  to  battle, 

Tracing  the  enemy's  track, — 
Ninety  had  ridden  to  battle; 

Nine  of  the  ninety  came  back. 

Honor  the  name  of  the  ninety! 

Honor  the  heroes  who  came 
Scathless  from  five  hundred  muskets, 

Safe  from  the  lead-bearing  flame! 


66  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Eighty  and  one  of  the  troopers 
Lie  on  the  field  of  the  slain, — 

Lie  on  the  red  field  of  honor; 
Honor  the  nine  who  remain ! 

Cold  are  the  dead  there,  and  gory, 

There  where  their  life-blood  was  spilt ; 

Back  come  the  living,  each  sabre 
Red  from  the  point  to  the  hilt. 

Up  with  three  cheers  and  a  "  tiger!  " 

Let  the  flags  wave  as  they  come ! 
Give  them  the  blare  of  the  trumpet! 

Give  them  the  roll  of  the  drum ! 
»  THOMAS  DUNN  ENGLISH. 

(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  Harper  and  Brothers.) 

20 

THE  LITTLE  DRUMMER 

'T  IS  of  a  little  drummer, 

The  story  I  shall  tell ; 
Of  how  he  marched  to  battle, 

Of  all  that  there  befell. 
Out  in  the  west  with  Lyon 

(For  once  the  name  was  true !) 
For  whom  the  little  drummer  beat 

His  rat-tat-too. 

Our  army  rose  at  midnight, 

Ten  thousand  men  as  one, 
Each  slinging  off  his  knapsack 

And  snatching  up  his  gun. 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE 

"  Forward !  "  and  off  they  started, 

As  all  good  soldiers  do, 
When  the  little  drummer  beats  for  them 

The  rat-tat-too. 

Across  a  rolling  country, 

Where  the  mist  began  to  rise; 
Past  many  a  blackened  farmhouse, 

Till  the  sun  was  in  the  skies; 
Then  we  met  the  rebel  pickets, 

Who  skirmished  and  withdrew, 
While  the  little  drummer  beat,  and  beat 

The  rat-tat-too. 

Along  the  wooded  hollows 

The  line  of  battle  ran, 
Our  center  poured  a  volley, 

And  the  fight  at  once  began; 
For  the  rebels  answered  shouting, 

And  a  shower  of  bullets  flew; 
But  still  the  little  drummer  beat 

His  rat-tat-too. 

He  stood  among  his  comrades, 

As  they  quickly  formed  the  line, 
And  when  they  raised  their  muskets 

He  watched  the  barrels  shine. 
When  the  volley  rang,  he  started, 

For  war  to  him  was  new; 
But  still  the  little  drummer  beat 

His  rat -tat -too. 

It  was  a  sight  to  see  them, 
That  early  autumn  day, 


68  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Our  soldiers  in  their  blue  coats, 
And  the  rebel  ranks  in  gray ; 

The  smoke  that  rolled  between  them, 
The  balls  that  whistled  through, 

And  the  little  drummer  as  he  beat 
His  rat-tat-too  ! 

His  comrades  dropped  around  him, — 

By  fives  and  tens  they  fell, 
Some  pierced  by  minie  bullets, 

Some  torn  by  shot  and  shell ; 
They  played  against  our  cannon, 

And  a  caisson's  splinters  flew; 
But  still  the  little  drummer  beat 

His  rat-tat-too  ! 

The  right,  the  left,  the  center, — 

The  fight  was  everywhere ; 
They  pushed  us  here,  —  we  wavered,— 

We  drove  and  broke  them  there. 
The  graybacks  fixed  their  bayonets, 

And  charged  the  coats  of  blue, 
But  still  the  little  drummer  beat 

His  rat-tat-too  ! 

"  Where  is  our  little  drummer  ?  " 

His  nearest  comrades  say, 
When  the  dreadful  fight  is  over, 

And  the  smoke  has' cleared  away. 
As  the  rebel  corps  was  scattering 

He  urged  them  to  pursue, 
So  furiously  he  beat,  and  beat 

The  rat-tqt-too  / 


W  TIME   OF  STRIFE  69 

He  stood  no  more  among  them, 

For  a  bullet,  as  it  sped, 
Had  glanced  and  struck  his  ankle, 

And  stretched  him  with  the  dead! 
He  crawled  behind  a  cannon, 

And  pale  and  paler  grew ; 
But  still  the  little  drummer  beat 

His  rat -tat -too  ! 

• 

They  bore  him  to  the  surgeon, 

A  busy  man  was  he : 
"  A  drummer  boy — what  ails  him  ?  " 

His  comrades  answered,  "  See!  " 
As  they  took  him  from  the  stretcher 

A  heavy  breath  he  drew, 
And  his  little  fingers  strove  to  beat 

The  rat-tat-too  ! 

The  ball  had  spent  its  fury: 

"  A  scratch!  "  the  surgeon  said, 
As  he  wound  the  snowy  bandage 

Which  the  lint  was  staining  red. 

I  must  leave  you  now,  old  fellow!  " 

Oh,  take  me  back  with  you, 
For  I  know  the  men  are  missing  me 

And  the  r  at -tat -too  !  " 

Upon  his  comrade's  shoulder 

They  lifted  him  so  grand, 
With  his  dusty  drum  before  him, 

And  his  drumsticks  in  his  hand! 
To  the  fiery  front  of  battle, 

That  nearer,  nearer  drew, — 


70  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

And  evermore  he  beat,  and  beat 
His  rat-tat-too  ! 

The  wounded  as  he  passed  them 

Looked  up  and  gave  a  cheer; 
And  one  in  dying  blessed  him, 

Between  a  smile  and  tear. 
And  the  graybacks — they  are  flying 

Before  the  coats  of*  blue, 
For  whom  the  little  drummer  beats 

His  rat -tat -too. 

When  the  west  was  red  with  sunset, 

The  last  pursuit  was  o'er; 
Brave  Lyon  rode  the  foremost, 

And  looked  the  name  he  bore. 
And  before  him  on  his  saddle, 

As  a  weary  child  would  do, 
Sat  the  little  drummer,  fast  asleep, 

With  his  rat-tat-too. 

RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author.) 


AT  anchor  in  Hampton  Roads  we  lay, 

On  board  of  the  Cumberland,  sloop-of-war; 
And  at  times  from  the  fortress  across  the  bay 
The  alarum  of  drums  swept  past, 
Qr  a  bugle  blast 
From  the  camp  on  the  shore. 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE 

Then  far  away  to  the  south  uprose 

A  little  feather  of  snow-white  smoke, 
And  we  knew  that  the  iron  ship  of  our  foes 
Was  steadily  steering  its  course 
To  try  the  force 
Of  our  ribs  of  oak. 

Down  upon  us  heavily  runs, 

Silent  and  sullen,  the  floating  fort; 
Then  comes  a  puff  of  smoke  from  her  guns, 
And  leaps  the  terrible  death, 
With  fiery  breath, 
From  each  open  port. 

We  are  not  idle,  but  send  her  straight 

Defiance  back  in  a  full  broadside! 
As  hail  rebounds  from  a  roof  of  slate, 
Rebounds  our  heavier  hail 
From  each  iron  scale 
Of  the  monster's  hide. 

"  Strike  your  flag!  "  the  rebel  cries, 

In  his  arrogant  old  plantation  strain. 
"  Never!  "  our  gallant  Morris  replies; 

"  It  is  better  to  sink  than  to  yield!  " 
And  the  whole  air  pealed 
With  the  cheers  of  our  men. 

Then,  like  a  kraken  huge  and  black, 

She  crushed  our  ribs  in  her  iron  grasp! 
Down  went  the  Cumberland  all  a  wrack, 
With  a  sudden  shudder  of  death, 
And  the  cannon's  breath 
For  her  dying  gasp. 


?2  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Next  morn,  as  the  sun  rose  over  the  bay, 

Still  floated  our  flag  at  the  mainmast  head, 
Lord,  how  beautiful  was  Thy  day ! 
Every  waft  of  the  air 
Was  a  whisper  of  prayer, 
Or  a  dirge  for  the  dead. 

Ho,  brave  hearts  that  went  down  in  the  seas! 

Ye  are  at  peace  in  the  troubled  stream ; 
Ho,  brave  land,  with  hearts  like  these, 
Thy  flag,  that  is  rent  in  twain, 
Shall  be  one  again, 
And  without  a  seam  ! 

HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

(By  special  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  an^  Company.) 

22 

JOHNSTON  AT  SHILOH 

A   CONFEDERATE   SOLDIER'S   STORY 

'MiD  dim  and  solemn  forests,  in  the  dawning  chill  and 

gray, 
Over   dank,    unrustling   leaves,   or  through   stiff  and 

sodden  clay, 
With    never  a  fife  or  bugle,   or  mutter  of  rumbling 

drum, 
With  shivering  forms  and  solemn  souls  the  Southern 

soldiers  come ; 
Their  long  lines  vanishing  in  mist  as  onward  they  are 

sweeping, 
With  step  as  silent  as  the  dawn's,  to  where  the  foe  is 

sleeping. 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  73 

A  challenge! — "  Halt!"  -The  expected  shot, —  and 
then  a  dozen  more, 

Like  pebbles  pattering  down  the  steep  the  avalanche 
before ; 

And  then  a  rush,  and  then  a  yell,  and  then  a  blinding 
glare, 

And  then  a  crash  to  lift  the  feet  resounding  every 
where  ! 

Now  vanish  chill  and  solemn  thoughts,  now  burns  the 
frenzied  blood; 

The  tottering  tents  toss  to  and  fro  upon  the  driving 
flood, 

And  the  campfires  flash  and  darken  fast  beneath  the 
masses'  tread — 

Now  smoke  behind  in  scattered  brands  'mid  wounded 
men  and  dead. 

And  forward  crowd  the  fugitives  in  panic-driven  race; 

In  vain  in  bush,  ravine,  and  brake  they  hunt  a  hiding- 
place  ; 

For  still  that  long  line  onward  sweeps  unbroken  far 
and  near, 

As  War  himself,  with  pinions  bowed,  were  screaming 
in  their  rear. 

But  far  beyond  the  panic's  reach  the  foe  is  forming 

fast, 
And  in  our  path  stands  rank  on  rank  of  long  battalions 

massed. 
Now,  Southern  soldiers,  nerve  your  hearts  and  gather 

up  your  strength, 

The  time  of  trial  waited  for  is  come  to  you  at  length ! 
A  hundred  pieces  open,  and  their  shrieking  missiles 

pour, 


74  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVER? 

While  full  ten  thousand  muskets  flash  and  mingle  in 

the  roar, 
Till  the  cannon's  boom   is  swallowed  in  the  din  of 

musketry, 
As  the  booming  of  the  ocean  when  the  thunders  crash 

on  high. 
But  momently  our  laboring  lines  are  charging  o'er  the 

field, 
And  forcing  back  the  stubborn  ranks  that  only  inches 

yield ; 
For  at  every  fence  they  rally  and  oppose  our  surging 

flood, 
Till   their   dead    lie  heaped  before  us  wherever  they 

have  stood. 
A  Southern  regiment  there  is  matched  against  a  full 

brigade, 

And  not  a  hundred  yards  apart  in  open  field  arrayed; 
A  brook  half  way  between  them  through  a  copse  of 

willows  glides, 
There  's  not  a  rock,  fence,  log,  or  tree  to  shelter  ours 

besides. 
But  stubbornly,    undauntedly,   with  ne'er  a  cheer  or 

shout, 
With    hands  too   busy  for  their   lips  they  deal  their 

volleys  out. 

Again  the  battle  gathers  strength  on  yonder  wooded 

hill, 
Behind  whose  awful  batteries  fresh  ranks  are  forming 

still ; 
A  reeking   veil   of  undergrowth   divides   the   hastile 

lines, 
But  lurid  through  its  tangled  web  the  vivid  lightning 

shines! 


IN  TIME    OF  STRIFE  75 

And  so  affrighting  Death  appears  behind  that  dreadful 

pall, 
The  stoutest   spirit   hesitates   and    flinches   from   his 

call. 
Now  who  will  pierce  that  curtain  dire  and  meet  the 

battle's  brunt, 
Before  their  armies  gather  there  and  burst  upon  our 

front  ? 
Again   the   stern,   portentous  cry  of  "bayonets"    is 

heard, 
But  not  again  the  serried  line  springs  forward  at  the 

word; 
Behind  the  trees  as  skirmishers  the  cowering  soldiers 

hide, 
And  from  afar  the  harmless  trade  of  musket  balls  is 

plied. 
In  vain,  in  vain  their  leaders  shout,  they  cannot  make 

them  stir, 
But  perish  singly  in  the  lead  with  scarce  a  follower! 

But  hark,  a  sound  of  hoofs  behind,  a  clang  of  sabres 

loud! 

I  see  a  squad  of  mighty  men  go  by  me  like  a  cloud! 
As  the  immortals  rode  to  war  when  Hector  fought  for 

Troy, 
These  ride,  as  if  immortals,  too,  inspired  with  awful 

joy- 
Before  them  spurs  their  leader  with  a  form  that  fills 

the  air, 
So  does  his  bearing  fill  their  eyes,  as  if  a  god  were 

there! 
Look   how   he   goes   to   battle    with  a  glory   on   his 

brow, 


y6  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

As  if  prophetic  Victory  held  laurels  o'er  it  now! 
They   are  racing  to  the  rescue:   it  is  Johnston  rides 

before ; 
God  grant  they  be  in  time  to  turn  the  battle's  tide 

once  more ! 
I  hear  their  shoutings  in  the  din;  I  hear  the  cries  to 

"  form," 
I  see  a  stiffening   battle-line   take    shape  within  the 

swarm ; 
And    again    the  rank   advances    with    an    impetus  of 

wrath, 
Their  chieftain's  rage  in  every  heart  impels  them  on 

their  path.      .  • 

A  thousand  rifles  leveled  low,  but  every  rifle  dumb, 
The  beating  of  a  thousand  feet  upon  a  monster  drum, 
A  surging  of  the  war  cloud  as  they  disappear  beneath, 
A  sickening  of  the  spirit  and  a  gasping  of  the  breath; 
Redoubled  din — a  lull — a  cheer;    I  would  the  smoke 

would  go! 
Oh,  see  our  swooping  battle  flags!     Oh,  see  the  fleeing 

foe! 
Now  glory  to  those  gallant  men !  and  Father,  to  Thy 

hand 
To-morrow    shall    our    praises   ring   throughout    our 

stricken  land ! 

But  where  is  he  who  rallied  them?     I  miss  his  charger 

there ; 
I  see  him  now  'midst  yonder  three  whose  saddles  all 

are  bare; 
And  two  men  staggering  with  a  load  this  side  of  them 

I  see; 
Oh,  who  is  it  they  carry  in  their  arms  so  tenderly  ? 


IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  77 

They  lay  him  gently  on  the  leaves.     Ah,  well  I  know 

him  now! 
I    know  that  lordly   figure    and    that  grand   imperial 

brow ! 
'T  is  he;  but  oh,  how  prostrate  is  that    form  which 

filled  the  air! 
And  his  the  pallid  face;    but  look,  the  glory  still  is 

there! 

Oh,  ye  daughters  of  Kentucky,  ere  your  paeans  are 

begun, 
Your  lips  shall  falter  when  they  tell  how  Shiloh's  fight 

was  won ! 
Your  hands  shall  weave  the  victoj  crown  of  laurels, 

but  in  vain; 
His  marble  brow  shall  never  feel,  nor  pulse  beat  quick 

again. 
Oh,  South,  be  sure  a  heart  so  pure  had  never  loved  so 

well ! 
A  country  which  had  wronged  him  sore  he  pardoned 

ere  he  fell. 

FLEMING  JAMES. 

23 
THE  RIVER  FIGHT 

WOULD  you  hear  of  the  river  fight  ? 

It  was  two  of  a  soft  spring  night; 

God's  stars  looked  down  on  all, 

And  all  was  clear  and  bright 

But  the  low  fog's  chilling  breath; — 

Up  the  River  of  Death 

Sailed  the  great  Admiral. 


78  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

On  our  high  poop-deck  he  stood, 
And  round  him  ranged  the  men 
Who  have  made  their  birthright  good 
Of  manhood  once  and  again, — 
Lords  of  helm  and  of  sail, 
Tried  in  tempest  and  gale. 

Who  could  fail  with  him  ? 

Who  reckon  of  life  or  limb  ? 

Not  a  pulse  but  beat  the  higher! 

There  had  you  seen,  by  the  starlight  dim, 

Five  hundred  faces  strong  and  grim; 

The  Flag  is  going  under  fire! 

Right  up  by  the  fort 

With  her  helm  hard  aport, 

The  Hartford  is  going  under  fire! 

First,  as  we  answered  their  flash, 

'T  was  lightning  and  black  eclipse, 

With  a  bellowing  roll  and  crash. 

But  soon  upon  either  bow, 

What  with  forts  and  fire-rafts  and  ships, 

(The  whole  fleet  was  hard  at  it  now, 

All  pounding  away!)  and  Porter 

Still  thundering  with  shell  and  mortar, — 

'T  was  the  mighty  sound  and  form 

Of  an  equatorial  storm. 

But,  as  we  worked  along  higher, 
Just  where  the  river  enlarges, 
Down  came  a  pyramid  of  fire, — 
It  was  one  of  your  long  coal  barges. 
(We  had  oft  had  the  like  before !) 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  79 

'T  was  coming  down  to  larboard, 

Well  in  with  the  eastern  shore. 

And  our  pilot,  to  let  it  pass  round, 

(You  may  guess  we  never  stopped  to  sound,) 

Giving  us  a  rank  sheer  to  starboard, 

Ran  the  Flag  hard  and  fast  aground! 

*T  was  nigh  abreast  of  the  upper  fort, 

And  straightway  a  rascal  ram 

(She  was  shaped  like  the  devil's  dam!) 

Puffed  away  for  us,  with  a  snort, 

And  shoved  it,  with  spiteful  strength, 

Right  alongside  of  us,  to  port ; — 

It  was  all  of  our  ship's  length, 

A  huge  crackling  cradle  of  the  pit, 

Pitch-pine  knots  to  the  brim, 

Belching  flame  red  and  grim ; — 

What  a  roar  came  up  from  it ! 

In  a  twinkling  the  flames  had  risen 

Half  way  to  the  main-top  and  mizzen, 

Darting  up  the  shrouds  like  snakes! 

Ah,  how  we  clanked  at  the  brakes! 

And  the  deep  steam-pumps  throbbed  under, 

Sending  a  ceaseless  flow ; — 

Our  top-men,  a  dauntless  crowd, 

Swarmed  in  rigging  and  shroud  ; — 

There,  ('t  was  a  wonder!) 

The  burning  ratlins  and  strands 

They  quenched  with  their  bare  hard  hands; 

But  the  great  guns  below 

Never  silenced  their  thunder! 


80  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

At  last,  by  backing  and  sounding, 
When  we  were  clear  of  grounding, 
And  under  headway  once  more, 
The  whole  rebel  fleet  came  rounding 
The  point; — if  we  had  it  hot  before, 
'T  was  now,  from  shore  to  shore, 
One  long,  loud  thundering  roar, — 
Such  crashing,  splintering,  and  pounding, 
And  smashing  as  you  never  heard  before! 
For  all  above  was  battle, 
Broadside,  and  blaze,  and  rattle, 
-  Smoke  and  thunder  alone! — 
(But,  down  in  the  sick-bay, 
Where  our  wounded  and  dying  lay, 
There  was  scarce  a  sob  or  a  moan.) 

And  at  last,  when  the  dim  day  broke, 

And  the  sullen  sun  awoke, 

Drearily  blinking 

O'er  the  haze  and  the  cannon-smoke, 

That  ever  such  morning  dulls, 

There  were  thirteen  hulls 

On  fire  and  sinking! 

And  on  the  dolorous  strand, 

To  greet  the  victor-brave, 

One  flag  did  welcome  wave, 

Raised,  ah,  me !  by  a  wretched  hand, 

All  outworn  on  our  cruel  land, 

The  withered  hand  of  a  slave! 

'T  is  well  to  do  and  dare, — 

But  ever  may  grateful  prayer          .  . 


ftf   TIME   OF  STKIFE  8 1 

Follow,  as  aye  it  ought, 
When  the  good  fight  is  fought, 
When  the  true  deed  is  done! 
Aloft  in  heaven's  pure  light, 
(Deep  azure  crossed  on  white) 
Our  fair  church-pennant  waves 
O'er  a  thousand  thankful  braves, 
Bareheaded  in  God's  bright  sun. 

HENRY  HOWAKD  BROWNELL. 


24 
KEARNY  AT  SEVEN  PINES 

So  that  soldierly  legend  is  still  on  its  journey, — 
That  story  of  Kearny  who  knew  not  to  yield ! 
'T  was  the  day  when  with  Jameson,  fierce  Berry,  and 

Birney, 

Against  twenty  thousand  he  rallied  the  field. 
Where  the  red  volleys  poured,  where  the  clamor  rose 

highest, 
Where  the  dead  lay  in  clumps  through  the  dwarf  oak 

and  pine, 
Where    the    aim    from    the   thicket    was    surest   and 

nighest, — 
No  charge  like  Phil  Kearny's  along  the  whole  line. 

When  the  battle  went  ill,  and  the  bravest  were  solemn, 
Near  the  dark  Seven  Pines,  where  we  still  held  our 
ground, 

He  rode  down  the  length  of  the  withering  column, 
And  his  heart  at  our  war-cry  leapt  up  with  a  bound ; 


82  BALLADS  OF  AMERICA*/    BRAVERY 

He  snuffed,  like  his  charger,  the  wind  of  the  powder, — 

His  sword  waved  us  on  and  we  answered  the  sign: 
Loud  our  cheer  as  we  rushed,  but  his  laugh  rang  the 

louder, 

'  There  's  the  devil's  own  fun,  boys,  along  the  whole 
line!" 

How  he  strode  his  brown   steed !     How  we  saw  his 

blade  brighten 

In  the  one  hand  still  left, — and  the  reins  in  his  teeth  ! 
He  laughed  like  a  boy  when  the  holidays  heighten, 

But  his  soldier's  glance  shot  from  his  visor  beneath. 
Up  came  the  reserves  to  the  mellay  infernal, 

Asking  where  to  go   in, — through   the  clearing  or 

pine  ? 
"  Oh,   anywhere  !      Forward  !      'T   is   all   the   same, 

Colonel : 
You  '11  find  lovely  fighting  along  the  whole  line!  " 

Oh,  evil  the  black  shroud  of  night  at  Chantilly, 

That  hid  him  from  sight  of  his  brave  men  and  tried! 
Foul,  foul  sped  the  bullet  that  clipped  the  white  lily, 
The  flower  of  our  knighthood,    the  whole  army's 

pride! 

Yet  we  dream  that  he  still, — in  that  shadowy  region 
Where  the  dead  form  their  ranks  at  the  wan  drum 
mer's  sign, — 

Rides  on,  as  of  old,  down  the  length  of  his  legion, 
And  the  word  still  is  "  Forward!  "  along  the  whole 
line. 

EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN. 

(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  and 
Company.) 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  83 

25 

AN   UNKNOWN   HERO 

SWEET  Malvern  Hill  is  wreathed  in  flame, 

From  serried  ranks  the  steel  is  gleaming; 
Our  legions  march  to  death  and  fame, 

Their  battle  flags  right  wildly  streaming. 
Each  hero  bares  his  manly  breast, 

And  gallant  hearts  are  fiercely  beating; 
With  steady  tramp  they  line  the  crest 

O'er  which  an  iron  hail  is  sleeting. 

Up  loom  the  bastions  grim  and  large 

Through  battle  smoke  that  's  lowering  near  them; 
The  little  drummers  roll  the  charge, 

And  dying  comrades  raise  to  cheer  them. 
Twice  forty  guns  with  deadly  aim 

Strike  down  our  lines  in  tones  of  thunder; 
Yet  still  they  press,  with  eyes  aflame, 

Till  Valor's  self  looks  on  in  wonder. 

But  now  the  human  tide  rolls  back, 

A  ghastly  remnant  grim  and  gory; 
And  countless  heroes  mark  the  track 

Which  led  them  up  to  heights  of  glory. 
But  one  still  presses  on  amain 

Where  double-shotted  guns  are  frowning, 
Above,  amidst  the  iron  rain, 

He  nobly  wins  a  hero's  crowning. 

Through  all  the  battle  smoke  he  'd  seen 

The  saintly  forms  of  angels  bearing 
The  laurel  crowns  forever  green 

To  wreathe  the  foreheads  of  the  daring. 


84  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

And  eager  for  his  priceless  crown, — 

The  bastions  scarce  a  length  before  him, — 

His  stalwart  form  at  length  went  down 
With  Death  and  Honor  bending  o'er  him. 

Brave  soldier  of  the  Southern  clime, 

No  stately  song  nor  brilliant  story 
Shall  hand  thy  name  to  future  time 

As  one  who  gained  immortal  glory. 
But  Freedom,  with  her  mailed  hand, 

Has  paused  to  brush  a  tear  of  sorrow, 
And  placed  thee  with  that  chosen  band 

Who  freely  pour  their  lifeblood  for  her. 

And  Valor,  with  her  royal  brow, 

And  Honor,  with  her  stately  bearing, 
Have  surely  felt  a  prouder  glow 

When  musing  on  thy  peerless  daring. 
O  gallant  soldier,  all  unknown, 

Though  noisy  Fame,  we  know,  shall  never 
Proclaim  thy  deeds  through  every  zone, 

A  hero's  crown  is  thine  forever  ! 

WILLIAM  GonboN  MCCABE. 

26 
BARBARA  FRIETCHIE 

UP  from  the  meadows  rich  with  corn, 
Clear  in  the  cool  September  morn,     ..... 

The  clustered  spires  of  Frederick  stand 
Green-walled  by  the  hills  of  Maryland. 


IN    TIME   OF  STRIFE  85 

Round  about  them  orchards  sweep, 
Apple  and  peach  tree  fruited  deep, 

Fair  as  a  garden  of  the  Lord 

To  the  eyes  of  the  famished  rebel  horde, 

On  that  pleasant  morn  of  the  early  fall 

When  Lee  marched  over  the  mountain  wall, — • 

Over  the  mountains,  winding  down, 
Horse  and  foot,  into  Frederick  town. 

Forty  flags  with  their  silver  stars, 
Forty  flags  with  their  crimson  bars, 

Flapped  in  the  morning  wind;  the  sun 
Of  noon  looked  down,  and  saw  not  one. 

Up  rose  old  Barbara  Frietchie  then, 
Bowed  with  her  fourscore  years  and  ten; 

Bravest  of  all  in  Frederick  town, 

She  took  up  the  flag  the  men  hauled  down; 

In  her  attic  window  the  staff  she  set, 
To  show  that  one  heart  was  loyal  yet. 

Up  the  street  came  the  rebel  tread, 
"  Stonewall  "  Jackson  riding  ahead. 

Under  his  slouched  hat  left  and  right 
He  glanced :  the  old  flag  met  his  sight. 

Halt!  "  —the  dust-brown  ranks  stood  fast; 
"  Fire!  "—out  blazed  the  rifle-blast. 


86  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

It  shivered  the  window,  pane  and  sash; 
It  rent  the  banner  with  seam  and  gash. 

Quick,  as  it  fell,  from  the  broken  staff 
Dame  Barbara  snatched  the  silken  scarf; 

She  leaned  far  out  on  the  window-sill, 
And  shook  it  forth  with  a  royal  will. 

"  Shoot,  if  you  must,  this  old  gray  head, 
But  spare  your  country's  flag,"  she  said. 

A  shade  of  sadness,  a  blush  of  shame, 
Over  the  face  of  the  leader  came ; 

The  nobler  nature  within  him  stirred 
To  life  at  the  woman's  deed  and  word: 

'  Who  touches  a  hair  of  yon  gray  head 
Dies  like  a  dog!     March  on!  "  he  said. 

All  day  long  through  Frederick  street 
Sounded  the  tread  of  marching  feet; 

All  day  long  that  free  flag  tossed 
Over  the  heads  of  the  rebel  host. 

Ever  its  torn  folds  rose  and  fell 

On  the  loyal  winds  that  loved  it  well; 

And  through  the  hill-gaps  sunset  light 
Shone  over  it  a  warm  good-night. 

Barbara  Frietchie's  work  is  o'er, 

And  the  rebel  rides  on  his  raids  no  more. 


JA"    7'JAfF.    Or  STRIFE  87 

Honor  to  her!  and  let  a  tear 

Fall,  for  her  sake,  on  "  Stonewall's  "  bier. 

Over  Barbara  Frietchie's  grave, 
Flag  of  freedom  and  union,  wave! 

Peace,  and  order,  and  beauty  draw 
Round  thy  symbol  of  light  and  law; 

And  ever  the  stars  above  look  down 
On  thy  stars  below  in  Frederick  town ! 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

(By  special  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company.) 

27 

THE  EAGLE  OF  CORINTH 

DID  you  hear  of  the  fight  at  Corinth, 

How  we  whipped  out  Price  and  Van  Dorn  ? 

A  long  and  terrible  day! 
And  at  last,  when  night  grew  gray, 
By  the  hundreds,  there  they  lay, 
(Heavy  sleepers,  you  'd  say,) 
That  would  n't  wake  on  the  morn. 

Our  staff  was  bare  of  a  flag, 
We  did  n't  carry  a  rag 
In  those  brave  marching  days; — 
Ah,  no,  but  a  finer  thing! 
With  never  a  cord  or  string, 
An  eagle  of  ruffled  wing, 
And  an  eye  of  awful  gaze. 


88  BALLADS  OF  AA1ERICAN  BRAVERY 

The  grape  it  rattled  like  hail, 

The  minies  were  dropping  like  rain, 

The  first  of  a  thunder  shower; 

The  wads  were  blowing  like  chaff, 

(There  was  pounding  like  floor  and  flail, 

All  the  front  of  our  line !) 

So  we  stood  it  hour  after  hour; 

But  our  eagle,  he  felt  fine! 

'T  would  have  made  you  cheer  and  laugh, 

To  see,  through  that  iron  gale, 

How  the  old  fellow  'd  swoop  and  sail 

Above  the  racket  and  roar, — 

To  right  and  to  left  he  'd  soar, 

But  ever  came  back,  without  fail, 

And  perched  on  his  standard-staff. 

All  that  day,  I  tell  you  true, 

They  had  pressed  us  steady  and  fair, 

Till  we  fought  in  street  and  square, — 

(The  affair,  you  might  think,  looked  blue) 

But  we  knew  we  had  them  there ! 

Our  batteries  were  few, 

Every  gun,  they  'd  have  sworn,  they  knew, 

But,  you  see,  there  were  one  or  two 

We  had  fixed  for  them,  unaware. 

On  they  came  in  solid  column, 

For  once  no  whooping  nor  yell — 

(Ah,  I  dare  say  they  felt  solemn !) 

Front  and  flank,  grape  and  shell, 

Our  batteries  pounded  away! 

And  the  minies  hummed  to  remind  'em 

They  had  started  on  no  child's  play! 


IN    TIME   OF  STRIFE  89 

Steady  they  kept  a-going, 
But  a  grim  wake  settled  behind  'em 
From  the  edge  of  the  abattis, 
(Where  our  dead  and  dying  lay 
Under  fence  and  fallen  tree,) 
Up  to  Robinett,  all  the  way 
The  dreadful  swath  kept  growing! 
'T  was  butternut  mixed  with  gray. 

Ah,  well — you  know  how  it  ended — 

We  did  for  them,  there  and  then, 

But  their  pluck  throughout  was  splendid, 

They  stood  to  the  last  like  men. 

Red  as  blood,  o'er  the  town, 

The  angry  sun  went  down, 

Firing  flag-staff  and  vane; 

And  our  eagle, — as  for  him, 

There,  all  ruffled  and  grim, 

He  sat,  o'erlooking  the  slain! 

'T  is  many  a  stormy  day 

Since,  out  of  the  cold  bleak  north, 

Our  great  war-eagle  sailed  forth 

To  swoop  o'er  battle  and  fray. 

Many  and  many  a  day 

O'er  charge  and  storm  hath  he  wheeled, 

Foray  and  foughten  field, 

Tramp,  and  volley,  and  rattle! — 

Over  crimson  trench  and  turf, 

Over  climbing  clouds  of  surf, 

Through  tempest  and  cannon-wrack, 

Have  his  terrible  pinions  whirled;—' 

(A  thousand  fields  of  battle! 


QO  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

A  million  leagues  of  foam !) 
But  our  bird  shall  yet  come  back, 
He  shall  soar  to  his  eyrie-home, 
And  his  thunderous  wings  be  furled, 
In  the  gaze  of  a  gladdened  world, 
On  the  nation's  loftiest  dome. 

HENRY  HOWARD  BROWNELL. 

28 
READY 

LOADED  with  gallant  soldiers, 

A  boat  shot  in  to  the  land, 
And  lay  at  the  right  of  Rodman's  Point, 

With  her  keel  upon  the  sand. 

Lighty,  gaily  they  came  to  shore, 

And  never  a  man  afraid ; 
When  suddenly  the  enemy  opened  fire 

From  his  deadly  ambuscade. 

Each  man  fell  flat  on  the  bottom 
Of  the  boat ;  and  the  captain  said, 

"  If  we  lie  here  we  all  are  captured, 
And  the  first  who  moves  is  dead !  " 

Then  out  spoke  a  negro  sailor,— 

No  slavish  soul  had  he, — 
"  Somebody  's  got  to  die,  boys, 

And  it  might  as  well  be  me!  " 

Firmly  he  rose,  and  fearlessly 
Stepped  out  into  the  tide; 


TN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  9! 

He  pushed  the  vessel  safely  off, 
Then  fell  across  her  side ; — 

Fell,  pierced  by  a  dozen  bullets, 

As  the  boat  swung  clear  and  free; 
But  there  was  n't  a  man  of  them  that  day 

Was  fitter  to  die  than  he! 

PHCEBE  GARY. 

(By  special  permission  of  Houghton,  Miffiin  and  Company.) 


Two  hours,   or  more,  beyond   the  prime  of  a  blithe 

April  day 
The   Northmen's  mailed  "  Invincibles  "  steamed   up 

fair  Charleston  Bay; 
They  came  in  sullen  file,  and  slow,  low-breasted  on  the 

wave, 
Black  as  a  midnight  front  of  storm',  and  silent  as  the 

grave. 

A  thousand  warrior-hearts  beat  high  as  these  dread 
monsters  drew 

More  closely  to  the  game  of  death  across  the  breeze- 
less  blue; 

And  twice  ten  thousand  hearts  of  those  who  watch  the 
scene  afar 

Thrill  in  the  awful  hush  that  bides  the  battle's  broad 
ening  star. 

Each  gunner,  moveless  by  his  gun,  with  rigid  aspect 

stands, 
The  ready  linstocks  firmly  grasped  in  bold,  untrem- 

bling  hands; 


92  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN7  BRAVERY 

So  moveless  in  their  marble  calm,  their  stern,  heroic 

guise, 
They  look  like  forms  of  statued  stone  with  burning 

human  eyes! 


Our  banners  on  the  outmost  walls,  with  stately  rus 
tling  fold, 

Flash  back  from  arch  and  parapet  the  sunlight's  ruddy 
gold  ;— 

They  mount  to  the  deep  roll  of  drums,  and  widely 
echoing  cheers, 

And  then,  once  more,  dark,  breathless,  hushed,  wait 
the  grim  cannoneers. 


Onward,  in  sullen  file,  and  slow,  low-glooming  on  the 

wave, 
Near,  nearer  still,  £he  haughty  fleet  glides  silent  as  the 

grave, 
When,    shivering    the    portentous    calm    o'er   startled 

flood  and  shore, 
Broke  from  the  sacred  Island  Fort  the  thunder  wrath 

of  yore ! 


The    storm    has    burst!    and,  while    we    speak,   more 

furious,  wilder,  higher, 
Dart  from  the  circling  batteries  a  hundred  tongues  of 

fire; 
The  waves  gleam  red,  the  lurid  vault  of  heaven  seems 

rent  above — 
Fight  on,  O  knightly  gentlemen,  for  faith,  and  home, 

and  love ! 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  93 

There  's  not,  in  all  .that  line  of  flame,   one  soul  that 

would  not  rise, 
To  seize  the  victor's  wreath  of  blood,  though  Death 

must  give  the  prize; 
There  's  not,  in  all  this  anxious  crowd  that  throngs 

the  ancient  town, 
A  maid  who  does  not  yearn  for  power  to  strike  one 

foeman  down ! 

The  conflict  deepens!  Ship  by  ship  the  proud  Armada 

sweeps 
Where  fierce  from  Sumter's  raging  breast  the  volleyed 

lightning  leaps; 
And  ship  by  ship,  raked,  overborne,  ere  burned  the 

sunset  light, 
Crawls  in  the  gloom  of  baffled  hate  beyond  the  field  of 

fight! 

PAUL  HAMILTON  HAYNH. 

(By   special  permission  of  William  Hamilton  Hayne,  and  of  ^be] 
Lothrop  Publishing  Company.) 

30 

KEENAN'S  CHARGE 

THE  sun  had  set; 

The  leaves  with  dew  were  wet, — 

Down  fell  a  bloody  dusk 

Where  "  Stonevvall's  "  corps,  like  a  beast  of  prey, 

Tore  through  with  angry  tusk. 

'  They  've  trapped  us,  boys!  " 
Rose  from  our  flank  a  voice. 
With  rush  of  steel  and  smoke 


94  BALLADS   OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

On  came  the  rebels  straight, 
Eager  as  love,  and  wild  as  hate; 
And  our  line  reeled  and  broke; 


Broke  and  fled. 

/ 

Not  one  stayed, — but  the  dead! 

With  curses,  shrieks,  and  cries, 

Horses,  and  wagons,  and  men 

Tumbled  back  through  the  shuddering  glen, 

And  above  us  the  fading  skies. 

There  's  some  hope,  still, — 
Those  batteries  parked  on  the  hill ! 
"  Battery,  wheel  "  ('mid  the  roar), 
14  Pass  pieces;  fix  prolonge  to  fire 
Retiring.     Trot!  "     In  the  panic  dire 
A  bugle  rings  "  Trot!  " — and  no  more. 

The  horses  plunged, 

The  cannon  lurched  and  lunged, 

To  join  the  hopeless  rout. 

But  suddenly  rose  a  form 

Calmly  in  front  of  the  human  storm. 

With  a  stern  commanding  shout: 

"  Align  those  guns!  " 

(We  knew  it  was  Pleasanton's.) 

The  cannoneers  bent  to  obey, 

And  worked  with  a  will  at  his  word, 

And  the  black  guns  moved  as  if  they  had  heard, 

But,  ah,  the  dread  delay ! 


IN    TIME   OF  STRIFE  95 

"  To  wait  is  crime; 
O  God,  for  ten  minutes'  time!  " 
The  general  looked  around. 
There  Keenan  sat,  like  a  stone, 
With  his  three  hundred  horse  alone, 
Less  shaken  than  the  ground. 

"  Major,  your  men  ?  " 

"  Are  soldiers,  general."      '  Then, 

Charge,  major!     Do  your  best; 

Hold  the  enemy  back,  at  all  cost, 

Till  my  guns  are  placed ; — else  the  army  is  lost. 

You  die  to  save  the  rest !  " 

By  the  shrouded  gleam  of  the  western  skies 
Brave  Keenan  looked  into  Pleasanton's  eyes 
For  an  instant, — clear,  and  cool,  and  still; 
Then,  with  a  smile,  he  said:  "  I  will." 

Cavalry,  charge!  "     Not  a  man  of  them  shrank. 
Their  sharp,  full  cheer,  from  rank  on  rank, 
Rose  joyously,  with  a  willing  breath, — 
Rose  like  a  greeting  hail  to  death. 

Then  forward  they  sprang,  and  spurred,  and  clashed; 

Shouted  the  officers,  crimson-sashed ; 

Rode  well  the  men,  each  brave  as  his  fellow, 

In  their  faded  coats  of  the  blue  and  yellow; 

And  above  in  the  air,  with  an  instinct  true, 

Like  a  bird  of  war  their  pennon  flew. 

With  clank  of  scabbard,  and  thunder  of  steeds, 
And  blades  that  shine  like  sunlit  reeds, 
And  strong  brown  faces  bravely  pale 
For  fear  their  proud  attempt  shall  fail, 


96  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Three  hundred  Pennsylvanians  close 
On  twice  ten  thousand  gallant  foes. 

Line  after  line  the  troopers  came 

To  the  edge  of  the  woods  that  was  ringed  with  flame; 

Rode  in,  and  sabred,  and  shot, — and  fell; 

Nor  came  one  back  his  wounds  to  tell. 

And  full  in  the  midst  rose  Keenan,  tall, 

In  the  gloom  like  a  martyr  awaiting  his  fall, 

While  the  circle-stroke  of  his  sabre,  swung 

Round  his  head,  like  a  halo  there,  luminous  hung. 

Line  after  line,  aye,  whole  platoons, 
Struck  dead  in  their  saddles,  of  brave  dragoons, 
By  the  maddened  horses  were  onward  borne, 
And  into  the  vortex  flung,  trampled  and  torn; 
As  Keenan  fought  with  his  men,  side  by  side. 
So  they  rode,  till  there  were  no  more  to  ride. 

And  over  them,  lying  there  shattered  and  mute, 
What  deep  echo  rolls  ? — 'T  is  a  death-salute 
From  the  cannon  in  place;  for,  heroes,  you  braved 
Your  fate  not  in  vain ;  the  army  was  saved ! 

Over  them  now, — year  following  year, — 

Over  their  graves  the  pine  cones  fall, 

And  the  whippoorwill  chants  his  spectre  call; 

But  they  stir  not  again,  they  raise  no  cheer; 

They  have  ceased.     But-  their  glory  shall  never  cease, 

Nor  their  light  be  quenched  in  the  light  of  peace. 

The  rush  of  their  charge  is  resounding  still 

That  saved  the  army  at  Chancellorsville. 

GEORGE  PARSONS  LATHROP. 

(From  Dreams  and  Days  ;  Copyright,  1892,  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 
By  special  permission.) 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  97 

3* 

THE  HERO  OF  THE  GUN 

THE  captain  galloped  to  the  front, 

The  foam  upon  his  rein ; 
And,  as  he  urged  his  swerving  steed 

Across  a  pile  of  slain, 

He  hailed  the  gunner  at  his  post: 
'  Ho,  Fergus!  pour  your  shell 
Straight  in  the  face  of  yon  stout  line 
That  holds  the  height  so  well, 

"  And  never  slack  your  raking  fire — 

No,  not  to  cool  your  gun ; 
For  if  we  break  those  stubborn  ranks, 

I  think  the  day  is  won." 

The  gunner  wiped  his  smoke-dimmed  face — 

"  I  '11  do  the  best  I  can, 
And  down — brave  fellows  though  they  be — 

We  '11  bring  them  to  a  man!  " 

"  I  '11  trust  you  for  it!  " — Like  a  flash 

The  captain  turned  and  wheeled, 
And  with  his  sword  above  his  head 

Dashed  backward  to  the  field. 

Fierce  belched  the  cannon's  ceaseless  fire, 

With  deadly  crash  and  din ; 
And,  though  the  line  still  held  the  height, 

Its  ranks  began  to  thin. 


98  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRA  VER  Y 

'  Two  rounds — and  we  will  clear  the  hill!  " 

But,  as  the  gunner  spoke, 

A  sudden  overwhelming  storm 

Of  bullets  o'er  him  broke. 

And  when  the  smoke  had  lifted,  there 

Still  straining  all  his  powers, 
They  heard  him  shout:  "  Two  shots,  my  boys, 

And  then  the  day  is  ours! 

No  matter  if  one  arm  be  gone, 
I  keep  the  other  still; 
I  promised  I  would  do  my  best, 
And  so  you  '11  see,  I  will! 

Let  me  make  trial  while  my  strength 
Can  do  the  duty  set; 
I  tell  you  that  this  strong  left  hand 
Is  good  for  service  yet!  " 

They  primed  the  piece,  and  twice  he  sent, 

With  all  too  deadly  aim, 
The  shells  that  mowed  the  broken  line, 

And  swept  the  hill  with  flame. 

'  Where  's  Fergus  ?  "• — and  the  captain's  horse 

Came  spurring  into  sight — 
1  Where  's  Fergus  ?  let  him  take  my  thanks, — 

His  fire  has  won  the  fight!  " 

The  dying  gunner  raised  his  head, 

His  lips  were  faintly  stirred — 
"  Captain,  I  said  I  'd  do  my  best — 
And — I  have  kept  my  word !  " 

MARGARET  JUNKIN  PRESTON. 
(By  special  permission  of  Dr.  George  J.  Preston.) 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  99 

32 

AN  INCIDENT  OF  WAR 

OUR  new  flag-bearer,  pale  and  slim, 

A  beardless  youth  of  quiet  mien, 
Much  chaffed  at  by  the  soldiers  grim 

(Before  in  battle  he  had  been), 
Hid  the  heroic  fire  in  him. 

He  sang  old  hymns,  and  prayed  at  night; 

"  A  bad  sign,"  quoth  the  sergeant  bold; 

Camp-meeting  tunes  before  a  fight 

Loosen  a  soldier's  moral  hold, 
And  pluck  beats  prayer  a  mighty  sight." 

The  boy  blushed  red,  but  tenderly 

He  to  the  sergeant  turned,  and  said: 
"  That  God  should  mind  me  what  am  I  ? 

And  yet  by  Him  my  soul  is  fed — 
Send  this  to  mother  if  I  die." 

The  sergeant,  with  a  knowing  look, 
And  winking  at  the  rest,  replied : 
Yes,  son,  I  '11  give  your  Ma  the  book —  " 
Just  then  a  volley  rattled  wide, 

And  one  great  gun  the  valley  shook. 

The  pale  flag-bearer  disappeared. 

"  Gone  to  the  rear,"  the  sergeant  said; 

Praying  would  make  a  Turk  afeared ; 

Those  lonesome  tunes  have  turned  his  head—  " 
And  then  the  tide  of  battle  neared. 


100  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

We  formed  in  haste  and  dashed  away, 
Across  the  field,  our  place  to  fill; 

At  first  a  skirmish,  then  a  spray 
Of  cannon  smoke  upon  a  hill 

Flanked  by  long  lines  in  close  array. 

Down  charged  the  foe ;  we  rushed  to  meet, 

We  filled  the  valley  like  a  sea; 
The  cannons  flashed  a  level  sheet 

Of  blinding  flame,  the  musketry 
Cut  men  as  sickles  cut  the  wheat! 

Oh,  then  we  shouted!     More  and  more 

The  fervor  of  our  courage  rose, 
As  through  our  solid  columns  tore 

The  death  hail's  crashing,  gusty  blows, 
And  louder  leaped  the  cannon  roar! 

But  how  could  human  courage  meet 
That  icy  flood  ?     All,  all  in  vain 

Our  counter-charge  ;  in  slow  retreat 
We  crossed  the  tumbled  heaps  of  slain, 

With  grave-pits  yawning  at  our  feet! 

"  Rally!     For  shame!  "  rang  out  a  cry 
Forth  from  the  thundering  vortex  cast ; 

A  voice  so  steady,  clear,  and  high, 
It  sounded  like  a  bugle-blast 

Blown  from  the  lips  of  Victory. 

We  paused,  took  hope,  yelled  loud,  and  so 
Renewed  the  charge,  all  as  one  man, 

Leaped  where  Death's  waves  had  thickest  flow, 
And  felt  the  breath  of  horror  fan 

Our  naked  souls  as  cold  as  snow ! 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  IOI 

The  volleys  quickened,  coalesced, 

Rolled  deep,  rocked  earth,  and  jarred  the  sky, 
When  lo,  our  banner-bearer  pressed 

His  standard  forward,  held  it  high 
And  rode  upon  the  battle's  crest! 

We  saw  him  wave  it  over  all ; 

Caught  in  the  battle  trough  and  dashed 
From  side  to  side,  it  would  not  fall ; 

But  like  a  meteor  danced  and  flashed 
And  reveled  in  the  sulphurous  pall! 

We  swept  the  field  and  won  the  hill; 

Our  flag  flared  out  upon  the  crest, 
Where  wavering,  gasping,  pale  and  chill, 

A  dozen  bullets  through  his  breast, 
The  slender  hero  held  it  still! 

We  leaped  to  lift  his  drooping  head, 

The  sergeant  clasped  him  to  his  breast; 
'  I  bore  the  flag,"  the  low  voice  said, 

And  God  bore  me,  now  let  me  rest ; " 
And  so  we  laid  him  with  the  dead. 

MAURICE  THOMPSON. 

(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  and 
Company.) 

33 
THE  BLACK  REGIMENT 

DARK  as  the  clouds  of  even, 
Ranked  in  the  western  heaven, 
Waiting  the  breath  that  lifts 
All  the  dead  mass,  and  drifts 


IO2  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Tempest  and  falling  brand 
Over  a  ruined  land, — 
So  still  and  orderly, 
Arm  to  arm,  knee  to  knee, 
Waiting  the  great  event, 
Stands  the  black  regiment. 

Down  the  long  dusky  line 
Teeth  gleam,  and  eyeballs  shine; 
And  the  bright  bayonet, 
Bristling  and  firmly  set, 
Flashed  with  a  purpose  grand, 
Long  ere  the  sharp  command 
Of  the  fierce  rolling  drum 
Told  them  their  time  had  come, 
Told  them  what  work  was  sent 
For  the  black  regiment. 

"  Now!  "  the  flag-sergeant  cried, 
"  Though  death  and  hell  betide, 
Let  the  whole  nation  see 
If  we  are  fit  to  be 
Free  in  this  land;  or  bound 
Down,  like  the  whining  hound, — 
Bound  with  red  stripes  of  pain 
In  our  cold  chains  again!  " 
Oh,  what  a  shout  there  went 
From  the  black  regiment! 

"  Charge!  "  trump  and  drum  awoke; 
Onward  the  bondsmen  broke; 
Bayonet  and  sabre-stroke 
Vainly  opposed  their  rush. 


IN    TIME    OF  STRIFE  IO3 

Through  the  wild  battle's  crush, 
With  but  one  thought  aflush, 
Driving  their  lords  like  chaff, 
In  the  gun's  mouth  they  laugh; 
Or  at  the  slippery  brands, 
Leaping  with  open  hands, 
Down  they  tear  man  and  horse, 
Down  in  their  awful  course; 
Trampling  with  bloody  heel 
Over  the  crushing  steel, — 
All  their  eyes  forward  bent, 
Rushed  the  black  regiment. 


"  Freedom!  "  their  battle-cry,— 
"  Freedom!  or  leave  to  die!  " 
Ah,  and  they  meant  the  word! 
Not  as  with  us  't  is  heard, — 
Not  a  mere  party  shout; 
They  gave  their  spirits  out, 
Trusting  the  end  to  God, 
And  on  the  gory  sod 
Rolled  in  triumphant  blood. 
Glad  to  strike  one  free  blow, 
Whether  for  weal  or  woe ; 
Glad  to  breathe  one  free  breath, 
Though  on  the  lips  of  death; 
Praying — alas,  in  vain! — 
That  they  might  fall  again, 
So  they  could  once  more  see 
That  burst  to  liberty! 
This  was  what  "  freedom  "  lent 
To  the  black  regiment. 


IO4  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Hundreds  on  hundreds  fell; 
But  they  are  resting  well; 
Scourges,  and  shackles  strong, 
Never  shall  do  them  wrong. 
Oh,  to  the  living  few, 
Soldiers,  be  just  and  true! 
Hail  them  as  comrades  tried; 
Fight  with  them  side  by  side; 
Never,  in  field  or  tent, 
Scorn  the  black  regiment ! 

GEORGE  HENRY  BOKER. 


34 
GREENCASTLE  JENNY 

OH,  Greencastle  streets  were  a  stream  of  steel 

With  the  slanted  muskets  the  soldiers  bore, 
And  the  scared  earth  muttered  and  shook  to  feel 

The  tramp  and  the  rumble  of  Longstreet's  Corps  j 
The  bands  were  blaring  The  Bonny  Blue  Flag, 

And  the  banners  borne  were  a  motley  many; 
And  watching  the  gray  column  wind  and  drag 

Was  a  slip  of  a  girl — we  '11  call  her  Jenny. 

A  slip  of  a  girl — what  needs  her  name  ? — 

With  her  cheeks  aflame  and  her  lips  aquiver, 
As  she  leaned  and  looked  with  a  loyal  shame 

On  the  steady  flow  of  the  steely  river: 
Till  a  storm  grew  black  in  her  hazel  eyes 

Time  had  not  tamed,  nor  a  lover  sighed  for; 
And  she  ran  and  she  girded  her,  apron-wise, 

With  the  flag  she  loved  and  her  brothers  died  for. 


IN   TIME  OF  STRIFE  1 05 

Out  of  the  doorway  they  saw  her  start 

(Pickett's  Virginians  were  marching  through), 

The  hot  little  foolish  hero-heart 

Armored  with  stars  and  the  sacred  blue. 

Clutching  the  folds  of  red  and  white 

Stood  she  and  bearded  those  ranks  of  theirs, 

Shouting  shrilly  with  all  her  might, 

Come  and  take  it,  the  man  that  dares!  " 

Pickett's  Virginians  were  passing  through; 

Supple  as  steel  and  brown  as  leather, 
Rusty  and  dusty  of  hat  and  shoe, 

Wonted  to  hunger  and  war  and  weather; 
Peerless,  fearless,  an  army's  flower! 

Sterner  soldiers  the  world  saw  never, 
Marching  lightly,  that  summer  hour, 

To  death  and  failure  and  fame  forever. 

Rose  from  the  rippling  ranks  a  cheer; 

Pickett  saluted,  with  bold  eyes  beaming, 
Sweeping  his  hat  like  a  cavalier, 

With  his  tawny  locks  in  the  warm  wind  streaming. 
Fierce  little  Jenny!  her  courage  fell, 

As  the  firm  lines  flickered  with  friendly  laughter, 
And  Greencastle  streets  gave  back  the  yell 

That  Gettysburg  slopes  gave  back  soon  after. 

So  they  cheered  for  the  flag  they  fought 

With  the  generous  glow  of  the  stubborn  fighter, 

Loving  the  brave  as  the  brave  men  ought, 
And  never  a  finger  was  raised  to  fright  her: 

So  they  marched,  though  they  knew  it  not, 
Through  the  fresh  green  June  to  the  shock  infernal, 


106  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

To  the  hell  of  the  shell  and  the  plunging  shot, 

And  the  charge  that  has  won  them  a  name  eternal. 

And  she  felt  at  last,  as  she  hid  her  face, 

There  had  lain  at  the  root  of  her  childish  daring 
A  trust  in  the  men  of  her  own  brave  race, 

And  a  secret  faith  in  the  foe's  forbearing. 
And  she  sobbed,  till  the  roll  of  the  rumbling  gun 

And  the  swinging  tramp  of  the  marching  men 
Were  a  memory  only,  and  day  was  done, 

And  the  stars  in  the  fold  of  the  blue  again. 

(  Thank  God  that  the  day  of  the  sword  is  done, 
A  nd  the  stars  in  the  fold  of  the  blue  again  ! ) 

HELEN  GRAY  CONE. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author.) 

35 
JOHN  BURNS  OF  GETTYSBURG 

HAVE  you  heard  the  story  that  gossips  tell 

Of  Burns  of  Gettysburg  ?— No  ?     Ah,  well, 

Brief  is  the  glory  the  hero  earns, 

Briefer  the  story  of  poor  John  Burns! 

He  was  the  fellow  who  won  renown, — 

The  only  man  who  did  n't  back  down 

When  the  rebels  rode  through  his  native  town: 

But  held  his  own  in  the  fight  next  day, 

When  all  his  townsfolk  ran  away. 

That  was  in  July,  sixty-three, 

The  very  day  that  General  Lee, 

Flower  of  Southern  chivalry, 

Baffled  and  beaten,  backward  reeled 

From  a  stubborn  Meade  and  a  barren  field, 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE 

I  might  tell  how,  but  the  day  before, 
John  Burns  stood  at  his  cottage  door, 
Looking  down  the  vittage  street, 
Where,  in  the  shade  of  his  peaceful  vine, 
He  heard  the  low  of  his  gathered  kine, 
And  felt  their  breath  with  incense  sweet; 
Or  I  might  say,  when  the  sunset  burned 
The  old  farm  gable,  he  thought  it  turned 
The  milk  that  fell  in  a  babbling  flood 
Into  the  milk-pail,  red  as  blood ! 
Or  how  he  fancied  the  hum  of  bees 
Were  bullets  buzzing  among  the  trees. 
But  all  such  fanciful  thoughts  as  these 
Were  strange  to  a  practical  man  like  Burns, 
Who  minded  only  his  own  concerns, 
Troubled  no  more  by  fancies  fine 
Than  one  of  his  calm-eyed,  long-tailed  kine, 
Quite  old-fashioned  and  matter-of-fact, 
Slow  to  argue,  but  quick  to  act. 
That  was  the  reason,  as  some  folks  say, 
He  fought  so  well  on  that  terrible  day. 

And  it  was  terrible.     On  the  right 
Raged  for  hours  the  heady  fight, 
Thundered  the  battery's  double  bass, — 
Difficult  music  for  men  to  face; 
While  on  the  left — where  now  the  graves 
Undulate  like  the  living  waves 
That  all  that  day  unceasing  swept 
Up  to  the  pits  the  rebels  kept- 
Round  shot  plowed  the  upland  glades, 
Sown  with  bullets,  reaped  with  blades; 
Shattered  fences  here  and  there 


IO8  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Tossed  their  splinters  in  the  air; 

The  very  trees  were  stripped  and  bare ; 

The  barns  that  once  held  yellow  grain 

Were  heaped  with  harvests  of  the  slain ; 

The  cattle  bellowed  on  the  plain, 

The  turkeys  screamed  with  might  and  main, 

And  brooding  barn-fowl  left  their  rest 

With  strange  shells  bursting  in  each  nest. 

Just  where  the  tide  of  battle  turns, 

Erect  and  lonely  stood  old  John  Burns. 

How  do  you  think  the  man  was  dressed  ? 

He  wore  an  ancient  long  buff  vest 

Yellow  as  saffron, — but  his  best; 

And,  buttoned  over  his  manly  breast, 

Was  a  bright  blue  coat,  with  a  rolling  collar, 

And  large  gilt  buttons, — size  of  a  dollar, — 

With  tails  that  the  country-folk  called  "  swaller.1 

He  wore  a  broad-brimmed,  bell-crowned  hat, 

White  as  the  locks  on  which  it  sat. 

Never  had  such  a  sight  been  seen 

For  forty  years  on  the  village  green, 

Since  old  John  Burns  was  a  country  beau, 

And  went  to  the  "  quiltings  "  long  ago. 

Close  at  his  elbows  all  that  day, 

Veterans  of  the  Peninsula, 

Sunburnt  and  bearded,  charged  away; 

And  striplings,  downy  of  lip  and  chin, — 

Clerks  that  the  Home  Guard  mustered  in, — 

Glanced,  as  they  passed,  at  the  hat  he  wore, 

Then  at  the  rifle  his  right  hand  bore; 

And  hailed  him,  from  out  their  youthful  lore, 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  1 09 

With  scraps  of  a  slangy  repertoire  : 

"  How  are  you,  White  Hat!  "  "  Put  her  through!  " 

44  Your  head  's  level,"  and  "  Bully  for  you!  " 

Called  him  "  Daddy," — begged  he  'd  disclose 

The  name  of  the  tailor  who  made  his  clothes, 

And  what  was  the  value  he  set  on  those; 

While  Burns,  unmindful  of  jeer  and  scoff, 

Stood  there  picking  the  rebels  off, — 

With  his  long  brown  rifle,  and  bell-crowned  hat, 

And  swallow-tails  they  were  laughing  at. 


'T  was  but  a  moment,  for  that  respect 
Which  clothes  all  courage  their  voices  checked; 
And  something  the  wildest  could  understand 
Spoke  in  the  old  man's  strong  right  hand; 
And  his  corded  throat,  and  the  lurking  frown 
Of  his  eyebrows  under  his  old  bell-crown; 
Until,  as  they  gazed,  there  crept  an  awe 
Through  the  ranks  in  whispers,  and  some  men  saw, 
In  the  antique  vestments  and  long  white  hair, 
The  Past  of  the  Nation  in  battle  there; 
And  some  of  the  soldiers  since  declare 
That  the  gleam  of  his  old  white  hat  afar, 
Like  the  crested  plume  of  the  brave  Navarre, 
That  day  was  their  oriflamme  of  war. 

So  raged  the  battle.     You  know  the  rest  : 
How  the  rebels  beaten  and  backward  pressed, 
Broke  at  the  final  charge,  and  ran. 
At  which  John  Burns — a  practical  man — 
Shouldered  his  rifle,  unbent  his  brows, 
And  then  went  back  to  his  bees  and  cows. 


IIO  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

That  is  the  story  of  old  John  Burns; 

This  is  the  moral  the  reader  learns: 

In  fighting  the  battle,  the  question  's  whether 

You  show  a  hat  that  's  white,  or  a  feather! 

BRET  HARTE. 
(By  special  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company.) 

36 

HIGH  TIDE  AT  GETTYSBURG 

A  CLOUD  possessed  the  hollow  field, 
The  gathering  battle's  smoky  shield. 
Athwart  the  gloom  the  lightning  flashed, 
And  through  the  cloud  some  horsemen  dashed, 
And  from  the  heights  the  thunder  pealed. 

Then  at  the  brief  command  of  Lee 
Moved  out  that  matchless  infantry, 
With  Pickett  leading  grandly  down, 
To  rush  against  the  roaring  crown 
Of  those  dread  heights  of  destiny. 

Far  heard  above  the  angry  guns 

A  cry  across  the  tumult  runs, — 

The  voice  that  rang  through  Shiloh's  woods 

And  Chickamauga's  solitudes, 

The  fierce  South  cheering  on  her  sons! 

Ah,  how  the  withering  tempest  blew 
Against  the  front  of  Pettigrew! 
A  Kamsin  wind  that  scorched  and  singed 
Like  that  infernal  flame  that  fringed 
The  British  squares  at  Waterloo ! 


IN    TIME   OF  STRIFE  III 

A  thousand  fell  where  Kemper  led ; 
A  thousand  died  where  Garnett  bled : 
In  blinding  flame  and  strangling  smoke 
The  remnant  through  the  batteries  broke 
And  crossed  the  works  with  Armistead. 

"  Once  more  in  Glory's  van  with  me!  " 
Virginia  cried  to  Tennessee: 
'  We  two  together,  come  what  may, 
Shall  stand  upon  these  works  to-day!  " 
(The  reddest  day  in  history.) 

Brave  Tennessee!     In  reckless  way 
Virginia  heard  her  comrade  say : 
"  Close  round  this  rent  and  riddled  rag!  " 
What  time  she  set  her  battle-flag 
Amid  the  guns  of  Doubleday. 

But  who  shall  break  the  guards  that  wait 
Before  the  awful  face  of  Fate  ? 
The  tattered  standards  of  the  South 
Were  shriveled  at  the  cannon's  mouth, 
And  all  her  hopes  were  desolate. 

In  vain  the  Tennesseean  set 
His  breast  against  the  bayonet! 
'In  vain  Virginia  charged  and  raged, 
A  tigress  in  her  wrath  uncaged, 
Till  all  the  hill  was  red  and  wet ! 

Above  the  bayonets,  mixed  and  crossed, 
Men  saw  a  gray,  gigantic  ghost 
Receding  through  the  battle-cloud, 
And  heard  across  the  tempest  loud 
The  death-cry  of  a  nation  lost ! 


112  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

The  brave  went  down  !     Without  disgrace 
They  leaped  to  Ruin's  red  embrace. 
They  only  heard  Fame's  thunders  wake, 
And  saw  the  dazzling  sun-burst  break 
In  smiles  on  Glory's  bloody  face! 

They  fell,  who  lifted  up  a  hand 
And  bade  the  sun  in  heaven  to  stand! 
They  smote  and  fell,  who  set  the  bars 
Against  the  progress  of  the  stars, 
And  stayed  the  march  of  Motherland! 

They  stood,  who  saw  the  future  come 

On  through  the  fight's  delirium! 

They  smote  and  stood,  who  held  the  hope 

Of  nations  on  that  slippery  slope 

Amid  the  cheers  of  Christendom! 


God  lives!     He  forged  the  iron  will 
That  clutched  and  held  that  trembling  hill. 
God  lives  and  reigns!     He  built  and  lent 
The  heights  for  Freedom's  battlement 
Where  floats  her  flag  in  triumph  still! 

Fold  up  the  banners!    Smelt  the  guns! 
Love  rules.     Her  gentler  purpose  runs. 
A  mighty  mother  turns  in  tears 
The  pages  of  her  battle  years, 
Lamenting  all  her  fallen  sons! 

WILL  HENRY  THOMPSON. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  The  Century  Company.) 


IN   TIME  OF  STRIFE  113 

37 

THOMAS  AT  CHICKAMAUGA 

IT  was  that  fierce  contested  field  when  Chickamauga 

lay 

Beneath  the  wild  tornado  that  swept  her  pride  away ; 
Her  dimpling  dales  and  circling  hills  dyed  crimson 

with  the  flood 
That  had  its  sources  in  the  springs  that  throb  with 

human  blood. 

1 '  Go  say  to  General  Hooker  to  reinforce  his  right !  ' ' 
Said  Thomas  to  his  aide-de-camp,  when  wildly  went 

the  fight; 
In  front  the  battle  thundered,  it  roared  both  right  and 

left, 
But   like   a   rock   "  Pap "    Thomas   stood   upon   the 

crested  cleft. 

'  Where  will  I  find  you,  General,  when  I  return?  "    The 

aide 
Leaned  on  his  bridle  rein  to  wait  the  answer  Thomas 

made; 
The  old  chief  like  a  lion  turned,  his  pale  lips  set  and 

sere, 
And  shook  his  mane,  and  stamped  his  foot,  and  fiercely 

answered,  "  Here  !  " 

The  floodtide  of  fraternal  strife  rolled  upward  to  his 

feet, 
And  like  the  breakers  on  the  shore  the  thunderous 

clamors  beat; 

8 


114  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

The  sad  earth  rocked  and  reeled  with  woe,  the  wood 
land  shrieked  in  pain, 

And  hill  and  vale  were  groaning  with  the  burden  of 
the  slain. 

Who  does  not   mind  that  sturdy  form,   that  steady 

heart  and  hand, 
That  calm  repose  and  gallant  mien,  that  courage  high 

and  grand? — 
O  God,  who  givest  nations  men  to  meet  their  lofty 

needs, 
Vouchsafe  another  Thomas  when  our  country  prostrate 

bleeds! 

They  fought  with  all  the  fortitude  of  earnest  men  and 

true — 
The  men  who  wore  the  rebel  gray,  the  men  who  wore 

the  blue; 
And  those,  they  fought  most  valiantly  for  petty  state 

and  clan, 
And  these,  for  truer  Union  and  the  brotherhood  of 

man. 

They  come,  those  hurling  legions,  with  banners  crim 
son-splashed, 

Against  our  stubborn  columns  their  rushing  ranks  are 
dashed, 

Till  'neath  the  blistering  iron  hail  the  shy  and  fright 
ened  deer 

Go  scurrying  from  their  forest  haunts  to  plunge  in 
wilder  fear. 

Beyond,  our  lines  are  broken ;  and  now  in  frenzied  rout 
The  flower  of  the  Cumberland  has  swiftly  faced  about ; 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  11$ 

And  horse  and  foot  and  color-guard  are  reeling,  rear 

and  van, 
And  in  the  awful  panic  man  forgets  he  is  a  man. 

Now    Bragg,    with  pride  exultant    above  our  broken 

wings, 
The  might  of  all  his  army  against  "  Pap  "   Thomas 

brings; 
They  're  massing  to  the  right  of  him,  they  're  massing 

to  the  left, 
Ah,  God  be  with  our  hero,  who  holds  the  crested  cleft ! 

Blow,  blow,  ye  echoing  bugles!  give  answer,  screaming 

shell! 

Go,  belch  your  murderous  fury,  ye  batteries  of  hell! 
Ring  out,  O  impious  musket!  spin  on,  O  shattering 

shot, — 
Our  smoke-encircled  hero,  he  hears  but  heeds  ye  not! 

Now  steady,  men !  now  steady !  make  one  more  valiant 

stand, 

For  gallant  Steedman's  coming,  his  forces  well  in  hand ! 
Close  up  your  shattered  columns,  take  steady  aim  and 

true, 
The  chief  who  loves  you  as  his  life  will  live  or  die  with 

you! 

By  solid  columns,  on  they  come ;  by  columns  they  are 

hurled, 
As  down  the  eddying  rapids  the  storm-swept  booms 

are  whirled ; 


Il6  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

And  when  the  ammunition  fails — O  moment  drear  and 

dread — 
The  heroes  load  their  blackened  guns  from  rounds  of 

soldiers  dead. 

God  never  set  His  signet  on  the  hearts  of  braver  men, 
Or  fixed  the  goal  of  victory  on  higher  heights  than 

then; 
With  bayonets  and  muskets  clubbed,  they  close  the 

rush  and  roar; 
Their  stepping-stones  to  glory  are  their  comrades  gone 

before. 

O  vanished  majesty  of  days  not  all  forgotten  yet, 
We   consecrate  unto    thy  praise    one    hour    of    deep 

regret ; 
One  hour  to  them  whose  days  were  years  of  glory  that 

shall  flood 
The  Nation's  sombre  night  of  tears,  of  carnage,  and  of 

blood ! 


O  vanished  majesty  of  days!     Rise,  type  and  mold 

to-day, 
And  teach  our  sons  to  follow  on  where  duty  leads  the 

way; 

That  whatsoever  trial  comes,  defying  doubt  and  fear, 
They  in  the  thickest  fight   shall  stand  and  proudly 
answer,  ' '  Here  !  ' ' 

KATE  BROWNLEE  SHERWOOD. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author.) 


IN  TIME  OF  STRIFE  II? 

38 

THE  SMALLEST  OF  THE  DRUMS 

WHEN  the  opulence  of  summer  unto  wood  and  mea 
dow  comes, 
And  within  the  tangled  .graveyard  riot  old-time  spice 

and  bloom, 
Then  dear  Nature  brings  her  tribute  to  "  the  smallest 

of  the  drums," 

Spreads  the  sweetest  of  her  blossoms  on  the  little 
soldier's  tomb. 

In  the  quiet  country  village,  still  they  tell  you  how  he 

died ; 
And  the  story  moves  you  strangely,  more  than  other 

tales  of  war. 

Thrice  heroic  seems  the  hero,  if  he  be  a  child  beside, 
And  the  wound  that  tears  his  bosom  is  more  sad 
than  others  far. 

In  the  ranks  of  Sherman's  army  none  so  young  and 

small  as  he, 
With  his  face  so  soft  and  dimpled,  and  his  innocent 

blue  eyes. 
Yet  of  all  the  Union  drummers  he  could  drum  most 

skillfully, 

With  a  spirit — said  his  colonel — fit  to  make  the  dead 
arise ! 

In  the  charge  at   Chickamauga  (so,   beside  his  little 

grave, 

You  may  learn  the  hero's  story  of  some  villager, 
perchance), 


Il8  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

When  his  regiment  sank,  broken,  from  the  rampart, 

like  a  wave, 

Thrice  the  clangor  of  his  drum-beat  rallied  to  a  fresh 
advance. 


There  he  stood  upon  the  hillside,  capless,  with  his  shin 
ing  hair 
Blown  about  his  childish  forehead  like  the  bright 

silk  of  the  corn ;  % 

And  the  men  looked  up,  and  saw  him  standing  brave 

and  scathless  there, 

As  an  angel  on  a  hilltop,    in  the  drifting  mist  of 
morn. 


Thrice  they  rallied  at  his  drum-beat, — then  the  tattered 

flag  went  down ! 
Some  one  caught  it,  waved  it  skyward  for  a  moment, 

and  then  fell. 
In  the  dust,  and  gore,  and  drabble,  all  the  stars  of 

freedom's  crown, 

And  the  soldiers  beaten  backward  from  the  emblem 
loved  so  well ! 


Then  our  drummer  boy,  our  hero,  from  his  neck  the 

drum-cord  flung, 
And  amid  the  hail  of  bullets  to  the  fallen  banner 

sped. 
Quick  he  raised  it  from  dishonor;  quick  before  them 

all  he  sprung, 

And  in  fearless,  proud  defiance,  waved  the  old  flag 
o'er  his  head! 


IN   TIME  OF  STRIFE  1 19 

For  a  minute's  space  the  cheering,    louder  than  the 

singing  balls, 
And  the  soldiers  pressing  forward,  closing  up  their 

broken  line! 
Then  the  child's  bright  head,  death-stricken,  on  his 

throbbing  bosom  falls, 

And  the  brave  eyes  that  God  lighted  cease  with  life 
and  soul  to  shine. 

In  the  flag  he  saved  they  wrapped  him ;  in  that  starry 

shroud  he  lies, 
And  the  roses,  and  the  lilacs,  and  the  daisies  seem 

to  know; 

For  in  all  that  peaceful  acre,  sleeping  'neath  the  sum 
mer  skies, 

There  is  neither  mound  nor  tablet  that  is  wreathed 
and  guarded  so ! 

JAMES  BUCKHAM. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author.) 

• 

39 
LITTLE  GIFFEN 

OUT  of  the  focal  and  foremost  fire, 
Out  of  the  hospital  walls  as  dire; 
Smitten  of  grape-shot  and  gangrene, 
(Eighteenth  battle,  and  he  sixteen!) 
Spectre,  such  as  you  seldom  see! — 
Little  Giffen  of  Tennessee! 

'  Take  him  ancj  welcome!  "  the  surgeons  said; 
Little  the  doctor  can  help  the  dead ! 


120  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

So  we  took  him ;  and  brought  him  where 
The  balm  was  sweet  in  the  summer  air; 
And  we  laid  him  down  on  a  wholesome  bed — 
Utter  Lazarus,  heel  to  head! 

And  we  watched  the  war  with  bated  breath, — 
Skeleton  Boy  against  skeleton  Death. 
Months  of  torture,  how  many  such  ? 
Weary  weeks  of  the  stick  and  crutch; 
And  still  a  glint  of  the  steel-blue  eye 
Told  of  a  spirit  that  wouldn't  die, 

And  didn't.     Nay,  more!  in  death's  despite 
The  crippled  skeleton  "  learned  to  write." 
"Dear  Mother"  at  first,  of  course;  and  then 
"Dear  Captain"  inquiring  about  the  men. 
Captain's  answer:  "  Of  eighty-and-five, 
Giffen  and  I  are  left  alive." 

Word  of  gloom  from  the  war,  one  day; 

Johnson  pressed  at  the  front,  they  say. 

Little  Giffen  was  up  and  away; 

A  tear — his  first — as  he  bade  good-by, 

Dimmed  the  glint  of  his  steel-blue  eye. 

"  I  '11  write,  if  spared !  ' '     There  was  news  of  the  fight ; 

But  none  of  Giffen. — He  did  not  write. 

I  sometimes  fancy  that,  were  I  king 

Of  the  princely  Knights  of  the  Golden  Ring, 

With  the  song  of  the  minstrel  in  mine  ear, 

And  the  tender  legend  that  trembles  here, 

I  'd  give  the  best  on  his  bended  knee, 

The  whitest  soul  of  my  chivalry, 

For  "  Little  Giffen  "  of  Tennessee. 

FRANCIS  ORRERY  TICKNOR. 
(By  special  permission  of  Mrs.  Rosa  N.  Ticknor.) 


IN    T1MI-:    OF  STRIFE  121 

40 

ULRIC  DAHLGREN 

A  FLASH  of  light  across  the  night, 

An  eager  face,  an  eye  afire ! 
O  lad  so  true,  you  yet  may  rue 

The  courage  of  your  deep  desire! 

"  Nay,  tempt  me  not;  the  way  is  plain — 
'T  is  but  the  coward  checks  his  rein ; 

For  there  they  lie, 

And  there  they  cry, 
For  whose  dear  sake  't  were  joy  to  die!  " 

He  bends  unto  his  saddlebow, 
The  steeds  they  follow  two  and  two; 

Their  flanks  are  wet  with  foam  and  sweat, 
Their  rider's  locks  are  damp  with  dew. 

"  O  comrades,  haste!  the  way  is  long, 
The  dirge  it  drowns  the  battle-song; 

The  hunger  preys, 

The  famine  slays, 
An  awful  horror  veils  our  ways!  " 

Beneath  the  pall  of  prison  wall 

The  rush  of  hoofs  they  seem  to  hear; 

From  loathsome  guise  they  lift  their  eyes, 
And  beat  their  bars  and  bend  their  ear. 

"  Ah,  God  be  thanked!  our  friends  are  nigh; 
He  wills  it  not  that  thus  we  die; 

O  fiends  accurst 

Of  Want  and  Thirst, 
Our  comrades  gather, — do  your  worst!  " 


122  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

A  sharp  affright  runs  through  the  night, 
An  ambush  stirred,  a  column  reined; 

The  hurrying  steed  has  checked  his  speed, 
His  smoking  flanks  are  crimson  stained. 

O  noble  son  of  noble  sire, 
Thine  ears  are  deaf  to  our  desire! 

O  knightly  grace 

Of  valiant  race, 
The  grave  is  honor's  trysting-place! 

O  life  so  pure!     O  faith  so  sure! 

O  heart  so  brave,  and  true,  and  strong! 
With  tips  of  flame  is  writ  your  name, 

In  annaled  deed  and  storied  song! 

It  flares  across  the  solemn  night, 
It  glitters  in  the  radiant  light ; 
A  jewel  set, 
Unnumbered  yet, 
In  our  Republic's  coronet! 

KATE  BROWNLEE  SHERWOOD. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author.) 


41 

FARRAGUT 

FARRAGUT,  Farragut,. 

Old  Heart  of  Oak, 
Daring  Dave  Farragut, 

Thunderbp}t  strode, 


IN    TIME   OF  STRIFE  123 

Watches  the  hoary  mist 

Lift  from  the  bay, 
Till  his  flag,  glory-kissed, 

Greets  the  young  day. 


Far,  by  gray  Morgan's  walls, 

Looms  the  black  fleet. 
Hark,  deck  to  rampart  calls 

With  the  drums'  beat! 
Buoy  your  chains  overboard, 

While  the  steam  hums; 
Men,  to  the  battlement! 

Farragut  comes. 

See,  as  the  hurricane 

Hurtles  in  wrath 
Squadrons  of  clouds  amain 

Back  from  its  path, 
Back  to  the  parapet, 

To  the  guns'  lips, 
Thunderbolt  Farragut 

Hurls  the  black  ships! 

Now  through  the  battle's  roar 

Clear  the  boy  sings, 
"  By  the  mark  fathoms  four," 

While  the  lead  swings. 
Steady  the  wheelmen  five 

44  Nor'  by  East  keep  her  "; 
14  Steady,"  but  two  alive: 

How  the  shells  sweep  her! 


124  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Lashed  to  the  mast  that  sways 

Over  red  decks, 
Over  the  flame  that  plays 

Round  the  torn  wrecks, 
Over  the  dying  lips 

Framed  for  a  cheer, 
Farragut  leads  his  ships, 

Guides  the  line  clear. 

On  by  heights  cannon-browed, 

While  the  spars  quiver; 
Onward  still  flames  the  cloud 

Where  the  hulks  shiver. 
See,  yon  fort's  star  is  set, 

Storm  and  fire  past! 
Cheer  him,  lads — Farragut 

Lashed  to  the  mast ! 

Oh,  while  Atlantic's  breast 

Bears  a  white  sail, 
While  the  Gulf's  towering  crest 

Tops  a  green  vale, 
Men  thy  bold  deeds  shall  tell, 

Old  Heart  of  Oak, 
Daring  Dave  Farragut, 

Thunderbolt  stroke! 

WILLIAM  TUCKEY  MEREDITH. 
(By  special  permission  of  The  Century  Company.) 

42 

LEE  TO  THE  REAR 

DAWN  of  a  pleasant  morning  in  May 

Broke  through  the  Wilderness  cool  and  gray, 


IN    77A/J-:   01'    STRIFE  12$ 

While,  perched  in  the  tallest  treetops,  the  birds 
Were     caroling      Mendelssohn's       '  Songs     without 
Words." 

Far  from  the  haunts  of  men  remote, 
The  brook  brawled  on  with  a  liquid  note, 
And  nature,  all  tranquil  and  lovely,  wore 
The  smile  of  spring,  as  in  Eden  of  yore. 

Little  by  little  as  daylight  increased, 

And  deepened  the  roseate  flush  in  the  east, — 

Little  by  little  did  morning  reveal 

Two  long  glittering  lines  of  steel ; 

Where  two  hundred  thousand  bayonets  gleam, 
Tipped  with  light  of  the  earliest  beam, 
And  the  faces  are  sullen  and  grim  to  see, 
In  the  hostile  armies  of  Grant  and  Lee. 

All  of  a  sudden,  ere  rose  the  sun, 
Pealed  on  the  silence  the  opening  gun; 
A  little  white  puff  of  smoke  there  came, 
And  anon  the  valley  was  wreathed  in  flame. 

Down  on  the  left  of  the  rebel  lines, 

Where  a  breastwork  stands  in  a  copse  of  pines, 

Before  the  rebels  their  ranks  can  form, 

The  Yankees  have  carried  the  place  by  storm. 

Stars  and  Stripes  o'er  the  salient  wave, 
Where  many  a  hero  has  found  a  grave; 
And  the  gallant  Confederates  strive  in  vain 
The  ground  they  have  drenched  with  their  blood  to 
regain. 


126  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Yet  louder  the  thunder  of  battle  roared; 
Yet  a  deadlier  fire  on  their  columns  poured; 
Slaughter  infernal  rode  with  Despair, 
Furies  twain,  through  the  smoky  air. 

Not  far  off,  in  the  saddle  there  sat 
A  gray-bearded  man  in  a  black  slouch-hat; 
Not  much  moved  by  the  fire  was  he, 
Calm  and  resolute  Robert  Lee. 

Quick  and  watchful,  he  kept  his  eye 
On  two  bold  rebel  brigades  close  by, — 
Reserves,  that  were  standing  (and  dying)  at  ease, 
While  the  tempest  of  wrath  toppled  over  the  trees. 

For  still  with  their  loud,  deep,  bulldog  bay, 
The  Yankee  batteries  blazed  away, 
And  with  every  murderous  second  that  sped 
A  dozen  brave  fellows,  alas,  fell  dead ! 

The  grand  old  graybeard  rode  to  the  space 
Where  Death  and  his  victims  stood  face  to  face, 
And  silently  waved  his  old  slouch-hat; 
A  world  of  meaning  there  was  in  that! 

"  Follow  me!     Steady!     We  '11  save  the  day!  " 
This  was  what  he  seemed  to  say ; 
And  to  the  light  of  his  glorious  eye 
The  bold  brigades  thus  made  reply: — 

"  We  '11  go  forward,  but  you  must  go  back!  " 
And  they  moved  not  an  inch  in  the  perilous  track; 
"  Go  to  the  rear,  and  we  '11  send  them  to  hell!  " 
And  the  sound  of  the  battle  was  lost  in  their  yell. 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  12"] 

Turning  his  bridle,  Robert  Lee 
Rode  to  the  rear.     Like  the  waves  of  the  sea, 
Bursting  their  dikes  in  their  overflow, 
Madly  his  veterans  dashed  on  the  foe. 

And  backward  in  terror  that  foe  was  driven, 
Their  banners  rent  and  their  columns  riven, 
Wherever  the  tide  of  battle  rolled 
Over  the  Wilderness,  wood  and  wold. 

Sunset  out  of  a  crimson  sky 
Streamed  o'er  a  field  of  ruddier  dye, 
And  the  brook  ran  on  with  a  purple  stain 
From  the  blood  of  ten  thousand  foemen  slain. 


Seasons  have  passed  since  that  day  and  year; 
Again  o'er  its  pebbles  the  brook  runs  clear, 
And  the  field  in  a  richer  green  is  dressed 
Where  the  dead  of  the  terrible  conflict  rest. 

Hushed  is  the  roll  of  the  rebel  drum, 

The  sabres  are  sheathed,  and  the  cannon  dumb; 

And  Fate,  with  pitiless  hand,  has  furled 

The  flag  that  once  challenged  the  gaze  of  the  world. 

But  the  fame  of  the  Wilderness  fight  abides; 

And  down  into  history  grandly  rides, 

Calm  and  unmoved  as  in  battle  he  sat, 

The  gray-bearded  man  in  the  black  slouch-hat. 

JOHN  RANDOLPH  THOMPSON. 


128  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

43 

CRAVEN 

OVER  the  turret,  shut  in  his  ironclad  tower, 

Craven  was   conning  his  ship  through  smoke  and 
flame; 

Gun  to  gun  he  had  battered  the  fort  for  an  hour, 
Now  was  the  time  for  a  charge  to  end  the  game. 

There  lay  the  narrowing  channel,  smooth  and  grim, 
A  hundred  deaths  beneath  it,  and  never  a  sign ; 

There  lay  the  enemy's  ships,  and  sink  or  swim 
The  flag  was  flying,  and  he  was  head  of  the  line. 

The  fleet  behind  was  jamming:  the  monitor  hung 
Beating  the  stream;  the  roar  for  a  moment  hushed; 

Craven  spoke  to  the  pilot;  slow  she  swung; 

Again  he  spoke,  and  right  for  the  foe  she  rushed 

Into  the  narrowing  channel,  between  the  shore 

And  the  sunk  torpedoes  lying  in  treacherous  rank; 

She  turned  but  a  yard  too  short;  a  muffled  roar, 
A  mountainous  wave,  and  she  rolled,  righted,  and 
sank. 

Over  the  manhole,  up  in  the  ironclad  tower, 
Pilot  and  captain  met  as  they  turned  to  fly: 

The  hundredth  part  of  a  moment  seemed  an  hour, 
For  one  could  pass  to  be  saved,  and  one  must  die. 

They  stood  like  men  in  a  dream ;  Craven  spoke, — 
Spoke  as  he  lived  and  fought,  with  a  captain's  pride: 

"  After  you,  Pilot."     The  pilot  woke, 

Down  the  ladder  he  went,  and  Craven  died. 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  I2Q 

All  men  praise  the  deed  and  the  manner;  but  we — 
We  set  it  apart  from  the  pride  that  stoops  to  the 

proud, 
The  strength  that  is  supple  to  serve  the  strong  and 

free, 
The  grace  of  the  empty  hands  and  promises  loud ; 

Sidney  thirsting  a  humbler  need  to  slake, 

Nelson  waiting  his  turn  for  the  surgeon's  hand, 

Lucas  crushed  with  chains  for  a  comrade's  sake, 
Outram  coveting  right  before  command, 

These  were  paladins,  these  were  Craven's  peers, 

These  with  him  shall  be  crowned  in  story  and  song. 
Crowned  with  the  glitter  of  steel  and  the  glimmer  of 

tears, 

Princes  of  courtesy,  merciful,  proud,  and  strong. 

HENRY  NEWBOLT. 

(By  special  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company,  and  of 
John  Lane.) 

44 
GRACIE  OF  ALABAMA 

ON,  sons  of  mighty  stature, 

And  souls  that  match  the  best! 
When  nations  name  their  jewels 

Let  Alabama  rest. 

Gracie  of  Alabama! 

'T  was  on  that  dreadful  day 
When  howling  hounds  were  fiercest 

With  Petersburg  at  bay. 


I3O  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Gracie  of  Alabama 

Walked  down  the  lines  with  Lee, 
Marking  through  mists  of  gunshot 

The  clouds  of  enemy. 

Thrice  Alabama's  warning 

Fell  on  a  heedless  ear, 
While  the  relentless  lead-storm, 

Converging,  hurtled  near; 

Till,  straight  before  his  chieftain, 

Without  a  word  or  sign, 
He  stood,  a  shield  the  grandest, 

Against  the  Union  line. 

And  then  the  glass  was  lowered, 

And  voice  that  faltered  not 
Said,  in  its  measured  cadence, 

"  Why,  Gracie,  you  '11  be  shot!" 

And  Alabama  answered, — 

'  The  South  will  pardon  me 
If  the  ball  that  goes  through  Gracie 
Comes  short  of  Robert  Lee!  " 

Swept  a  swift  flash  of  crimson 

Athwart  the  chieftain's  cheek, 
And  the  eyes  whose  glance  was  knighthood 

Spake  as  no  king  could  speak. 

And  side  by  side  with  Gracie 

He  turned  from  shot  and  flame, — 
Side  by  side  with  Gracie 

Up  the  grand  aisle  of  Fame! 

FRANCIS  ORRERY  TICKNOR. 
(By  special  permission  of  Mrs.  Rosa  N.  Ticknor.) 


IN    TIME   OF  STRIFE  131 

45 

THE  BALLAD  OF  A  LITTLE  FUN 

I  RODE  a  horse,  a  dappled  bay, 

Coal-black  his  mane  and  tail, — 
A  horse  who  never  needed  spur, 

Nor  curb,  nor  martingale. 

And  by  my  side  three  others  rode, 
Sun-tanned,  long-haired,  and  grim, 

Wild  men  led  on  by  Edmondson, 
Jim  Polk,  you  've  heard  of  him. 

Behind  us  galloped,  four  by  four, 

A  swarthy,  mottled  band 
Of  reckless  fellows,  chosen  from 

The  bravest  in  the  land. 

Whither  away  on  that  fair  day  ? 

Oh,  just  a  dash  for  fun, 
To  speed  our  horses,  and  keep  up 

With  Jim  Polk  Edmondson. 

Behind  our  backs  we  left  the  hills; 

We  crossed  the  Salliquoy; 
My  right-hand  comrade  smiled  and  said, 

"  I  fished  here  when  a  boy." 

Then -from  the  rise  at  Mogan's  house, 

I  saw,  as  in  a  dream, 
Reed-fringed,  and  silver-blue,  and  tfeep, 

The  Cposawattee  gleam, 


132  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

A  shot  rang  out !     A  bullet  split 

The  air  so  close  to  me 
I  felt  the  keen  hot  puff;  and  then 

A  roar  of  musketry. 

A  wind  of  lead  blew  from  the  wood; 

We  took  it  at  a  run: 
We  sped  so  fast  along  the  lane 

The  worm-fence  panels  spun. 

A  horse  went  down,  a  dying  face 

Scowled  darkly  at  the  sky; 
A  bullet  clipped  my  comrade's  hat 

And  lopped  the  brim  awry. 

"  Come,  boys;  come  on!  "  our  leader  cried. 

Pellmell  we  struck  the  line ; 
My  comrade's  pistol  spat  its  balls, 

And  likewise  so  did  mine. 

A  swirl  of  smoke,  with  rifts  of  fire, 

Enveloped  friend  and  foe; 
Death,  so  embarrassed,  hardly  knew 

Which  way  his  strokes  must  go. 

The  fight  closed  in  on  every  side, 
And  tore  one  spot  of  ground; 

There  was  not  room  to  swing  an  arm, 
Or  turn  your  horse  around. 

A  moment  thus,  and  then  we  broke 

The  circle  of  our  fo'es. 
Old  Hogan,  in  his  doorway,  heard 

The  crunching  of  our  blows, 


IN   TIME  OF  STXIFE  133 

The  while  we  used  our  pistol-butts, 

As  swords,  on  many  a  head ; 
And  yet,  and  yet,  down  in  that  wood 

We  left  our  leader, — dead. 

So,  now  you  know  just  how  it  was 

We  had  our  little  fun, 
Speeding  our  horses  to  keep  up 
With  Jim  Polk  Edmondson. 

MAURICE  THOMPSON. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  The  Century  Company.) 

46 

SHERIDAN'S  RIDE 

UP  from  the  south,  at  break  of  day, 
Bringing  to  Winchester  fresh  dismay, 
The  affrighted  air  with  a  shudder  bore, 
Like  a  herald  in  haste  to  the  chieftain's  door, 
The  terrible  grumble,  and  rumble,  and  roar, 
Telling  the  battle  was  on  once  more, 

And  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away. 

And  wider  still  those  billows  of  war 
Thundered  along  the  horizon's  bar; 
And  louder  yet  into  Winchester  rolled 
The  roar  of  that  red  sea  uncontrolled, 
Making  the  blood  of  the  listener  cold, 
As  he  thought  of  the  stake  in  that  fiery  fray, 
With  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away. 

But  there  is  a  road  from  Winchester  town, 
A  good  broad  highway  leading  down: 


134  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

And  there,  through  the  flush  of  the  morning  light, 
A  steed  as  black  as  the  steeds  of  night 
Was  seen  to  pass,  as  with  eagle  flight; 
As  if  he  knew  the  terrible  need, 
He  stretched  away  with  his  utmost  speed; 
Hills  rose  and  fell;  but  his  heart  was  gay, 
With  Sheridan  fifteen  miles  away. 

Still  sprang  from  those  swift  hoofs,  thundering  south, 
The  dust  like  smoke  from  the  cannon's  mouth, 
Or  the  trail  of  a  comet,  sweeping  faster  and  faster, 
Foreboding  to  traitors  the  doom  of  disaster. 
The  heart  of  the  steed  and  the  heart  of  the  master 
Were  beating  like  prisoners  assaulting  their  walls, 
Impatient  to  be  where  the  battle-field  calls; 
Every  nerve  of  the  charger  was  strained  to  full  play, 
With  Sheridan  only  ten  miles  away. 

Under  his  spurning  feet,  the  road 
Like  an  arrowy  Alpine  river  flowed, 
And  the  landscape  sped  away  behind 
Like  an  ocean  flying  before  the  wind; 
And  the  steed,  like  a  bark  fed  with  furnace  ire, 
Swept  on,  with  his  wild  eye  full  of  fire. 
But,  lo,  he  is  nearing  his  heart's  desire! 
He  is  snuffing  the  smoke  of  the  roaring  fray, 
With  Sheridan  only  five  miles  away. 

The  first  that  the  general  saw  were,  the  groups 

Of  stragglers,  and  then  the  retreating  troops; 

What  was  done  ?  what  to  do  ?  a  glance  told  him  both. 

Then  striking  his  spurs  with  a  terrible  oath, 

He  dashed  down  the  line,  'mid  a  storm  of  huzzas, 

And  thewave  of  retreat  checked  its  course  there  because 


IN   TIME  OF  STRIFE  135 

The  sight  of  the  master  compelled  it  to  pause. 
With  foam  and  with  dust  the  black  charger  was  gray; 
By  the  flash  of  his  eye,  and  the  red  nostril's  play, 
He  seemed  to  the  whole  great  army  to  say: 
'  I  have  brought  you  Sheridan  all  the  way 

From  Winchester  down  to  save  the  day." 

Hurrah,  hurrah  for  Sheridan! 

Hurrah,  hurrah  for  horse  and  man! 

And  when  their  statues  are  placed  on  high, 

Under  the  dome  of  the  Union  sky, 

The  American  soldier's  Temple  of  Fame, 

There  with  the  glorious  general's  name 

Be  it  said,  in  letters  both  bold  and  bright: 

1  Here  is  the  steed  that  saved  the  day 
By  carrying  Sheridan  into  the  fight, 

From  Winchester, — twenty  miles  away!  " 

THOMAS  BUCHANAN  READ. 
(By  special  permission  of  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company.) 

47 
DOWN  THE  LITTLE  BIG  HORN 

DOWN  the  Little  Big  Horn, 

(O  troop  forlorn !) 

Right  into  the  camp  of  the  Sioux, 

(What  was  the  muster  ?) 

Two  hundred  and  sixty-two 

Went  into  the  fight  with  Custer, 

Went  out  of  the  fight  with  Custer, 

Went  out  at  a  breath, 

Staunch  to  the  death! 


136  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Just  from  the  canyon  emerging, 

Saw  they  the  braves  of  Sitting  Bull  surging, 

Two  thousand  and  more, 

Painted  and  feathered,  thirsting  for  gore, 

Did  they  shrink  and  turn  back, 

(Hear  how  the  rifles  crack!) 

Did  they  pause  for  a  life, 

For  a  sweetheart  or  wife  ? 

And  one  in  that  savage  throng, 

(His  revenge  had  waited  long,) 

Pomped  with  porcupine  quills, 

His  deerskins  beaded  and  fringed, 

An  eagle's  plume  in  his  long  black  hair, 

His  tall  lance  fluttering  in  the  air, 

Glanced  at  the  circling  hills — 

His  cheeks  flushed  with  a  keen  surmise, 

A  demon's  hate  in  his  eyes 

Remembering  the  hour  when  he  cringed, 

A  prisoner  thonged, 

Chief  Rain-in-the-Face 

(There  was  a  sachem  wronged !) 

Saw  his  enemy's  heart  laid  bare, 

Feasted  in  thought  like  a  beast  in  his  lair. 

Cavalry,  cavalry, 

(Tramp  of  the  hoof,  champ  of  the  bit,) 

Horses  prancing,  cavorting, 

Shying  and  snorting, 

Accoutrements  rattling, 

(Children  at  home  are  prattling,) 

Gallantly,  gallantly, 

"  Company  dismount!  " 


IN    TIME    OF  STRIFE  137 

From  the  saddle  they  swing, 
With  their  steeds  form  a  ring, 
(Hear  how  the  bullets  sing!) 
Who  can  their  courage  recount  ? 

Do  you  blanch  at  their  fate  ? 

(Who  would  hesitate  ?) 

Two  hundred  and  sixty-two 

Immortals  in  blue, 

Standing  shoulder  to  shoulder, 

Like  some  granite  boulder 

You  must  blast  to  displace — 

(Were  they  of  a  valiant  race  ?) 

Two  hundred  and  sixty-two, 

And  never  a  man  to  say, 

"  I  rode  with  Custer  that  day." 

Give  the  savage  his  triumph  and  bluster, 

Give  the  hero  to  perish  with  Custer, 

To  his  God  and  his  comrades  true. 

Closing  and  closing, 

Nearer  the  redskins  creep; 

With  cunning  disposing, 

With  yell  and  with  whoop, 

(There  are  women  shall  weep!) 

They  gather  and  swoop, 

They  come  like  a  flood, 

Maddened  with  blood, 

They  shriek,  plying  the  knife, 

(Was  there  one  begged  for  his  life  ?) 

Where  but  a  moment  ago 

Stood  serried  and  sternly  the  foe, 

Now  fallen,  mangled  below. 


138  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Down  the  Little  Big  Horn, 

(Tramp  of  hoof,  champ  of  the  bit,) 

A  single  steed  in  the  morn, 

Comanche,  seven  times  hit, 

Comes  to  the  river  to  drink; 

Lists  for  the  sabre's  clink, 

Lists  for  the  voice  of  his  master, 

(O  glorious  disaster!) 

Comes,  sniffing  the  air, 

Gazing,  lifts  his  head, 

But  his  master  lies  dead, 

(Who  but  the  dead  were  there  ?) 

But  stay,  what  was  the  muster  ? 

Two  hundred  and  sixty-two 

(Two  thousand  and  more  the  Sioux!) 

Went  into  the  fight  with  Custer, 

Went  out  of  the  fight  with  Custer; 

For  never  a  man  can  say, 

"  I  rode  with  Custer  that  day — " 

Went  out  like  a  taper, 

Blown  by  a  sudden  vapor, 

Went  out  at  a  breath, 

True  to  the  death! 

FRANCIS  BROOKS. 
(By  special  permission  of  Dr.  Almon  Brooks.) 

48 

THE  BOND  OF  BLOOD 

THE  words  of  a  rebel  old  and  battered, 
Who  will  care  to  remember  them  ? 

Under  the  Lost  FJag,  battle-tattered, 
I  was  a  comrade  of  Allan  Memm. 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  139 

Who  was  Allan,  that  I  should  name  him 

Bravest  of  all  the  brave  who  bled  ? 
Why  should  a  soldier's  song  proclaim  him 

First  of  a  hundred  thousand  dead  ? 

An  angel  of  battle,  with  fair  hair  curling 

By  brown  cheeks  shrunken  and  wan  with  want ; 

A  living  missile  that  Lee  was  hurling 
Straight  on  the  iron  front  of  Grant ; 

A  war-child  born  of  the  Old  South's  passion, 

Trained  in  the  camp  of  the  cavaliers; 
A  spirit  wrought  in  the  antique  fashion 

Of  Glory's  martial  morning  years. 

His  young  wife's  laugh  and  his  baby's  prattle 
He  bore  through  the  roar  of  the  hungry  guns — 

Through  the  yell  of  shell  in  the  rage  of  battle, 
And  the  moan  that  under  the  thunder  runs. 

His  was  the  voice  that  cried  the  warning 
At  the  shattered  gate  of  the  slaughter-pen, 

When  Hancock  rushed  in  the  gray  of  morning 
Over  our  doomed  and  desperate  men. 

His  was  the  hand  that  held  the  standard — 
A  flaring  torch  on  a  crumbling  shore — 

'Mid  the  billows  of  blue  by  the  storm  blown  landward, 
And  his  call  we  heard  through  the  ocean  roar: 

Ere  the  flag  should  shrink  to  a  lost  hope's  token, 
Ere  the  glow  of  its  glory  be  low  and  dim, 

Ere  its  stars  should  fade  and  its  bars  be  broken, 
Calling  his  comrades  to  come  to  him. 


140  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

And  these,  at  the  order  of  Hill  or  Gordon, — 
God  keep  their  ashes!  I  knew  them  well, — 

Would  have  smashed  the  ranks  of  the  devil's  cordon, 
Or  charged  through  the  flames  that  roar  in  hell. 

But  none  could  stand  where  the  storm  was  beating, 

Never  a  comrade  could  reach  his  side ; 
In  the  spume  of  flame  where  the  tides  were  meeting, 

He,  of  a  thousand,  stood  and  died. 

And  the  foe,  in  the  old  heroic  manner, 

Tenderly  laid  his  form  to  rest, 
The  splintered  staff  and  the  riddled  banner 

Hiding  the  horror  upon  his  breast. 

....... 

Gone  is  the  cot  in  the  Georgia  wildwood, 

Gone  is  the  blossom-strangled  porch; 
The  roof  that  sheltered  a  soldier's  childhood 

Vainly  pleaded  with  Sherman's  torch. 

Gone  are  the  years,  and  far  and  feeble 

Ever  the  old  wild  echoes  die; 
Hark  to  the  voice  of  a  great,  glad  people 

Hailing  the  one  flag  under  the  sky! 

And  the  monstrous  heart  of  the  storm  receding 

Fainter  and  farther  throbs  and  jars ; 
And  the  new  storm  bursts,  and  the  brave  are  bleeding 

Under  the  cruel  alien  stars. 

And  Allan's  wife  in  the  grave  is  lying 
Under  the  old  scorched  vine  and  pine, 

While  Allan's  child  in  the  isles  is  dying 
Far  on  the  foremost  fighting  line. 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  14! 

Cheer  for  the  flag  with  the  old  stars  spangled! 

Shake  out  its  folds  to  the  wind's  caress, 
Over  the  hearts  by  the  war-hounds  mangled, 

Down  in  the  tangled  Wilderness! 

To  wave  o'er  the  grave  of  the  brave  forever; 

For  the  Gray  has  sealed,  in  the  bond  of  blood, 
His  faith  to  the  Blue,  and  the  brave  shall  never 
Question  the  brave  in  the  sight  of  God. 

WILL  HENRY  THOMPSON. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  The  Century  Company.) 

49 

A  BALLAD  OF  MANILA  BAY 

YOUR  threats  how  vain,  Corregidor; 
Your  rampired  batteries,  feared  no  more; 
Your  frowning  guard  at  Manila  gate, — 
When  our  Captain  went  before! 

Lights  out.     Into  the  unknown  gloom 
From  the  windy,  glimmering,  wide  sea-room, 
Challenging  fate  in  that  dark  strait 
We  dared  the  hidden  doom. 

But  the  death  in  the  deep  awoke  not  then; 
Mine  and  torpedo  they  spoke  not  then ; 
From  the  heights  that  loomed  on  our  passing  line 
The  thunders  broke  not  then. 

Safe  through  the  perilous  dark  we  sped, 
Quiet  each  ship  as  the  quiet  dead, 
Till  the  guns  of  El  Fraile  roared — too  late, 
And  the  steel  prows  forged  ahead. 


142  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Mute  each  ship  as  the  mute-mouth  grave, 
A  ghost  leviathan  cleaving  the  wave; 
But  deep  in  its  heart  the  great  fires  throb, 
The  travailing  engines  rave. 

The  ponderous  pistons  urge  like  fate, 
The  red-throat  furnaces  roar  elate, 
And  the  sweating  stokers  sagger  and  swoon 
In  a  heat  more  fierce  than  hate. 

So  through  the  dark  we  stole  our  way 
Past  the  grim  warders  and  into  the  bay, 
Past  Kalibuyo,  and  past  Salinas, — 
And  came  at  the  break  of  day 

Where  strong  Cavit£  stood  to  oppose, — 
Where,  from  a  sheen  of  silver  and  rose, 
A  thronging  of  masts,  a  soaring  of  towers, 
The  beautiful  city  arose. 

How  fine  and  fair!     But  the  shining  air 
With  a  thousand  shattered  thunders  there 
Flapped  and  reeled.     For  the  fighting  foe — 
We  had  caught  him  in  his  lair. 

Surprised,  unready,  his  proud  ships  lay 
Idly  at  anchor  in  Bakor  Bay : — 
Unready,  surprised,  but  proudly  bold, 

Which  was  ever  the  Spaniard's  way. 

Then  soon  on  his  pride  the  dread  doom  fell, 
Red  doom, — for  the  ruin  of  shot  and  shell 
Lit  every  vomiting,  bursting  hulk 
With  a  crimson  reek  of  hell. 


JN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  143 

But  to  the  brave  though  beaten,  hail! 

All  hail  to  them  that  dare  and  fail! 

To  the  dauntless  boat  that  charged  our  fleet 

And  sank  in  the  iron  hail! 
•  .  «  • '          •  •  •  • 

Manila  Bay !     Manila  Bay ! 
How  proud  the  song  on  our  lips  to-day! 
A  brave  old  song  of  the  true  and  strong, 

And  the  will  that  has  its  way ; 

Of  the  blood  that  told  in  the  days  of  Drake 
When  the  fight  was  good  for  the  fighting's  sake! 
For  the  blood  that  fathered  Farragut 

Is  the  blood  that  fathered  Blake ; 

And  the  pride  of  the  blood  will  not  be  undone 
While  war  's  in  the  world  and  a  fight  to  be  won. 
For  the  master  now,  as  the  master  of  old, 
Is  "  the  man  behind  the  gaan." 

The  dominant  blood  that  daunts  the  foe, 
That  laughs  at  odds,  and  leaps  to  the  blow, — 
It  is  Dewey's  glory  to-day,  as  Nelson's 
A  hundred  years  ago! 

CHARLES  GEORGE  DOUGLAS  ROBERTS. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  Harper  and  Brothers.) 

50 

DEWEY  AT  MANILA 

'T  WAS  the  very  verge  of  May 

When  the  bold  Olympia  led 
Into  Bocagrande  gray 

Dewey's  squadron,  dark  and  dread, — 


244  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Creeping  past  Corregidor, 
Guardian  of  Manila's  shore. 

Do  they  sleep  who  wait  the  fray  ? 

Is  the  moon  so  dazzling  bright 
That  our  cruisers'  battle-gray 

Melts  into  the  misty  light  ?     .     . 
Ah!  the  rockets  flash  and  soar! 
Wakes  at  last  Corregidor! 

All  too  late  their  screaming  shell 
Tears  the  silence  with  its  track; 

This  is  but  the  gate  of  hell, 

We  've  no  leisure  to  turn  back. 

Answer,  Boston — then  once  more 

Slumber  on,  Corregidor! 

And  as,  like  a  slowing  tide, 
Onward  still  the  vessels  creep, 

Dewey,  watching,  falcon-eyed, 
Orders — "  Let  the  gunners  sleep; 

For  we  meet  a  foe  at  four 

Fiercer  than  Corregidor." 

Well  they  slept,  for  well  they  knew 
What  the  morrow  taught  us  all — 

He  was  wise  (as  well  as  true) 
Thus  upon  the  foe  to  fall. 

Long  shall  Spain  the  day  deplore 

Dewey  ran  Corregidor. 

May  is  dancing  into  light 
As  the  Spanish  Admiral 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  145 

From  a  dream  of  phantom  fight 

Wakens  at  his  sentry's  call. 
Shall  he  leave  Cavite's  lee, 
Hunt  the  Yankee  fleet  at  sea  ? 

O  Montojo,  to  thy  deck, 

That  to-day  shall  float  its  last! 
Quick!     To  quarters!     Yonder  speck 

Grows  a  hull  of  portent  vast. 
Hither,  toward  Cavity's  lee 
Comes  the  Yankee  hunting  thee! 

Not  for  fear  of  hidden  mine 

Halts  our  doughty  Commodore. 
He,  of  old  heroic  line, 

Follows  Farragut  once  more, 
Hazards  all  on  victory, 
Here  within  Cavity's  lee. 

If  he  loses,  all  is  gone ; 

He  will  win  because  he  must. 
And  the  shafts  of  yonder  dawn 

Are  not  quicker  than  his  thrust. 
Soon,  Montojo,  he  shall  be 
With  thee  in  Cavity's  lee. 

Now,  Manila,  to  the  fray! 

Show  the  hated  Yankee  host 
This  is  not  a  holiday — 

Spanish  blood  is  more  than  boast. 
Fleet  and  mine  and  battery, 
Crush  him  in  Cavite"s  lee! 

Lo,  hell's  geysers  at  our  fore 
Pierce  the  plotted  path — in  vain, 


146  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Nerving  every  man  the  more 

With  the  memory  of  the  Maine  ! 
Now  at  last  our  guns  are  free 
Here  within  Cavite's  lee. 

"  Gridley,"  says  the  Commodore, 

'  You  may  fire  when  ready."     Then 
Long  and  loud,  like  lions'  roar 
When  a  rival  dares  the  den, 
Breaks  the  awful  cannonry 
Full  across  Cavite's  lee. 

Who  shall  tell  the  daring  tale 
Of  Our  Thunderbolt's  attack, 

Finding,  when  the  chart  should  fail, 
By  the  lead  his  dubious  track, 

Five  ships  following  faithfully 

Five  times  o'er  Cavite's  lee; 

Of  our  gunners'  deadly  aim  ; 

Of  the  gallant  foe  and  brave 
Who,  unconquered,  faced  with  flame, 

Seek  the  mercy  of  the  wave — 
Choosing  honor  in  the  sea 
Underneath  Cavite's  lee! 

Let  the  meed  the  victors  gain 
Be  the  measure  of  their  task. 

Less  of  flinching,  stouter  strain, 
Fiercer  combat — who  could  ask  ? 

And  "  surrender  " — 't  was  a  word 

That  Cavit6  ne'er  had  heard. 

Noon — the  wof ul  work  is  done ! 
'Not  a  Spanish  ship  remains; 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  147 

But,  of  their  eleven,  none 

Ever  was  so  truly  Spain's! 
Which  is  prouder,  they  or  we, 
Thinking  of  Cavite"s  lee  ? 

ENVOY 

But  remember,  when  we  've  ceased 

Giving  praise  and  reckoning  odds, 
Man  shares  courage  with  the  beast, 

Wisdom  cometh  from  the  gods. 
Who  would  win,  on  land  or  wave, 
Must  be  wise  as  well  as  brave. 

ROBERT  UNDERWOOD  JOHNSON. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author.) 

51 

THE  MEN  OF  THE  "  MERRIMAC  " 

HAIL  to  Hobson  !  hail  to  Hobson  !  hail  to  all  the  valiant 

set! 
Clausen,  Kelly,  Deignan,  Phillips,  Murphy,  Montagu, 

Charette  ! 
Howsoever  we  laud  and  laurel  we  shall  be  their  debtors 

yet ! 
Shame  upon  us,  shame  upon  us,  should  the  nation  e'er 

forget ! 

Though  the  tale  be  worn  with  telling,  let  the  daring 

deed  be  sung! 
Surely  never  brighter  valor,  since  this  wheeling  world 

was  young, 
Thrilled  men's  souls  to  more  than  wonder,  till  praise 

leaped  from  every  tongue! 


148  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Trapped  at  last  the  Spanish  sea-fox  in  the  hill-locked 

harbor  lay ; 
Spake  the  Admiral  from  his  flagship,  rocking  off  the 

hidden  bay, 
'  We  must  close  yon  open  portal  lest  he  slip  by  night 

away!  " 

"  Volunteers!  "  the  signal  lifted  ;  rippling  through  the 

fleet  it  ran; 
Was  there  ever  deadlier  venture  ?  was  there  ever  bolder 

plan  ? 
Yet  the  gallant  sailors  answered,  answered  wellnigh  to 

a  man! 

i  4 

Ere  the  dawn's  first  rose-flush  kindled,  swiftly  sped  the 

chosen  eight 
Toward  the  batteries  grimly  frowning  o'er  the  harbor's 

narrow  gate ; 
Sooth,  he  holds  his  life  but  lightly  who  thus  gives  the 

dare  to  Fate ! 

They   had   passed  the  outer  portal  where  the  guns 

grinned,  tier  o'er  tier, 
When    portentous     Morro    thundered,     and    Socapa 

echoed  clear, 
And  Estrella  joined  a  chorus  pandemoniac  to  hear. 

Heroes  without  hands  to  waver,  heroes  without  hearts 

.   to  quail, 
There  they  sank  the  bulky  collier  'mid  the  hurtling 

Spanish  hail; 
Long  shall  float  our  starry  banner  if  such  lads  beneath 

it  sail! 


IN   TIME  OF  STRIFE  149 

Hail  to  Hobson  !  hail  to  Hobson  !  hail  to  all  the  valiant 

set  ! 
Clausen,  Kelly,  Deignan,  Phillips,  Murphy,  Montagu, 

Charette  ! 
Howsoever  we  laud  and  laurel  we  shall  be  their  debtors 

yet ! 
Shame  upon  us,  shame  upon  us,  should  tJie  nation  e'er 

forget  / 

CLINTON  SCOLLARD. 

52 
THE  CHARGE  AT  SANTIAGO 

WITH  shot  and  shell,  like  a  loosened  hell, 

Smiting  them  left  and  right, 
They  rise  or  fall  on  the  sloping  wall 

Of  beetling  bush  and  height! 
They  do  not  shrink  at  the  awful  brink 

Of  the  rifle's  hurtling  breath, 
But  onward  press,  as  their  ranks  grow  less, 

To  the  open  arms  of  death ! 

Through  a  storm  of  lead,  o'er  maimed  and  dead, 

Onward  and  up  they  go, 
Till  hand  to  hand  the  unflinching  band 

Grapple  the  stubborn  foe. 
O'er  men  that  reel,  'mid  glint  of  steel, 

Bellow  or  boom  of  gun, 
They  leap  and  shout  over  each  redoubt 

Till  the  final  trench  is  won ! 

O  charge  sublime!     Over  dust  and  grime 
Each  hero  hurls  his  name 


150  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

In  shot  or  shell,  like  a  molten  hell, 
To  the  topmost  heights  of  fame! 
And  prone  or  stiff,  under  bush  and  cliff, 

Wounded  or  dead  men  lie, 
While  the  tropic  sun  on  a  grand  deed  done 
Looks  with  his  piercing  eye! 

WILLIAM  HAMILTON  HAYNE. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author.) 

53 
SPAIN'S    LAST  ARMADA 

THEY  fling  their  flags  upon  the  morn, 
Their  safety  's  held  a  thing  for  scorn, 
As  to  the  fray  the  Spaniards  on  the  wings  of  war  are 
borne; 

Their  sullen  smoke-clouds  writhe  and  reel, 
And  sullen  are  their  ships  of  steel, 
All  ready,  cannon,  lanyards,  from  the  fighting-tops  to 
keel. 

They  cast  upon  the  golden  air 

One  glancing,  helpless,  hopeless  prayer, 
To  ask  that  swift  and  thorough  be  the  victory  falling 
there ; 

Then  giants  with  a  cheer  and  sigh 

Burst  forth  to  battle  and  to  die 
Beneath  the  walls  of  Morro  on  that  morning  in  July. 

The  Teresa  heads  the  haughty  train, 
To  bear  the  Admiral  of  Spain, 

She  rushes,  hurtling,  whitening,  like  the  summer  hur 
ricane  ; 


IN    TIME    OF  STRIFE  15 1 

El  Morro  glowers  in  his  might; 
Socapa  crimsons  with  the  fight ; 

The  Oqucndos  lunging  lightning  blazes  through  her 
somber  night. 

In  desperate  and  eager  dash 

The  Vizcaya  hurls  her  vivid  flash, 
As  wild  upon  the  waters  her  enormous  batteries  crash ; 

Like  spindrift  scuds  the  fleet  Colon, 

And,  on  her  bubbling  wake  bestrewn, 
Lurch,    hungry   for  the  slaughter,   El  Furor  and  El 
Pluton. 

Round  Santiago's  armored  crest, 
Serene,  in  their  gray  valor  dressed, 
Our  behemoths   lie  quiet,  watching  well  from  south 
and  west ; 

Their  keen  eyes  spy  the  harbor-reek; 
The  signals  dance,  the  signals  speak ; 
Then  breaks  the  blasting  riot  as  our  broadsides  storm 
and  shriek! 

Quick,  poising  on  her  eagle-wings, 

The  Brooklyn  into  battle  swings; 

The  wide  sea  falls  and  wonders  as  the  titan    Texas 
springs ; 

The  Iowa  in  monster-leaps 

Goes  bellowing  above  the  deeps; 
The  Indiana  thunders  as  her  terror  onward  sweeps. 

And,  hovering  near  and  hovering  low 
Until  the  moment  strikes  to  go, 

In  gallantry  the  Gloucester  swoops  down  on  her  double 
fo«; 


152  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

She  volleys — the  Furor  falls  lame; 
Again — and  the  Pluton  's  aflame; 
Hurrah,  on  high  she  's  tossed  her!     Gone  the  grim 
destroyers'  fame! 

And  louder  yet  and  louder  roar 

The  Oregon  s  black  cannon  o'er 

The  clangor  and  the  booming  all  along  the  Cuban 
shore. 

She  's  swifting  down  her  valkyr-path, 

Her  sword  sharp  for  the  aftermath, 
With  levin  in  her  glooming,  like  Jehovah  in  His  wrath. 

Great  ensigns  snap  and  shine  in  air 
Above  the  furious  onslaught  where 
Our  sailors  cheer  the  battle,   danger  but  a  thing  to 
dare; 

Our  gunners  speed,  as  oft  they  've  sped, 
Their  hail  of  shrilling,  shattering  lead, 
Swift-sure  our  rifles  rattle,  and  the  foeman's  decks  are 
red. 

Like  baying  bloodhounds  lope  our  ships, 
Adrip  with  fire  their  cannons'  lips; 
We  scourge  the  fleeing  Spanish,  whistling  weals  from 
scorpion-whips; 

Till,  livid  in  the  ghastly  glare, 
They  tremble  on  in  dread  despair, 
And  thoughts  of  victory  vanish  in  the  carnage  they 
must  bear. 

Where  Cuban  coasts  in  beauty  bloom, 
Where  Cuban  breakers  swirl  and  boom, 
The  Teresa  s  onset  slackens  in  a  scarlet  spray  of  doom ; 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  153 

Near  Nimanima's  greening  hill 
The  streaming  flames  cry  down  her  will, 
Her  vast  hull  blows  and  blackens,  prey  to  every  mortal 
ill. 

On  Juan  Gonzales'  foaming  strand 
The  Oquendo  plunges  'neath  our  hand, 

Her  armaments  all  strangled,  and  her  hope  a  shower 
ing  brand ; 

She  strikes  and  grinds  upon  the  reef, 
And,  shuddering  there  in  utter  grief, 

In  misery  and  mangled,  wastes  away  beside  her  chief. 

The  Vizcaya  nevermore  shall  ride 

From  out  Aserradero's  tide, 

With  hate  upon  her  forehead  ne'er  again  she  '11  pass  in 
pride; 

Beneath  our  fearful  battle-spell 

She  moaned  and  struggled,  flared  and  fell, 
To  lie  agleam  and  horrid,  while  the  piling  fires  swell. 

Thence  from  the  wreck  of  Spain  alone 
Tears  on  the  terrified  Colon, 

In  bitter  anguish  crying,  like  a  storm-bird  forth  she  's 
flown; 

Her  throbbing  engines  creak  and  thrum  ; 
She  sees  abeam  the  Brooklyn  come, 
For  life  she  's  gasping,  flying;  for  the  combat  is  she 
dumb. 

Till  then  the  man  behind  the  gun 
Had  wrought  whatever  must  be  done — 
Here,  now,  beside  our  boilers  is  the  fight  fought  out 
and  won; 


154  BALLADS   OF  AMERICAN  BRATERY 

Where  great  machines  pulse  on  and  beat, 
A-swelter  in  the  humming  heat 

The  Nation's  nameless  toilers  make  her  mastery  com 
plete. 

The  Cape  o'  the  Cross  casts  out  a  stone 
Against  the  course  of  the  Colon, 

Despairing  and  inglorious  on  the  wind  her  white  flag  's 
thrown ; 

Spain's  last  Armada,  lost  and  wan, 
Lies  where  Tarquino's  stream  rolls  on, 
As   round   the   world,    victorious,    looms   the    dread 
nought  Oregon. 

The  sparkling  daybeams  softly  flow 
To  glint  the  twilight  afterglow, 

The  banner  sinks  in  splendor  that  in  battle  ne'er  was 
low; 

The  music  of  our  country's  hymn 
Rings  out  like  song  of  seraphim, 

Fond  memories  and  tender  fill  the  evening  fair  and 
dim  ; 

Our  huge  ships  ride  in  majesty 
Unchallenged  o'er  the  glittering  sea, 
Above  them  white  stars  cluster,  mighty  emblem  of  the 
free; 

And  all  adown  the  long  sea-lane 
The  fitful  bale-fires  wax  and  wane 
To  shed    their  lurid  lustre   on  the  empire  that  w-as 
Spain. 

WALLACE 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author.) 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  155 

54 

BALLAD  OF  PACO  TOWN 

IN  Paco  town  and  in  Paco  tower, 
At  the  height  of  the  tropic  noonday  hour, 
Some  Tagal  riflemen,  half  a  score, 
Watched  the  length  of  the  highway  o'er, 
And  when  to  the  front  the  troopers  spurred, 
Whiz-z !  whiz-z !  how  the  Mausers  whirred ! 

From  the  opposite  walls,  through  crevice  and  crack, 
Volley  on  volley  went  ringing  back 
Where  a  band  of  regulars  tried  to  drive 
The  stinging  rebels  out  of  their  hive; 

'  Wait  till  our  cannon  come,  and  then," 
Cried  a  captain,  striding  among  his  men, 

4  We  '11  settle  that  bothersome  buzz  and  drone 
With  a  merry  little  tune  of  our  own!  " 

The  sweltering  breezes  seemed  to  swoon, 

And  down  the  callc  the  thickening  flames 

Licked  the  roofs  in  the  tropic  noon. 

Then  through  the  crackle  and  glare  and  heat, 

And  the  smoke  and  the  answering  acclaims 

Of  the  rifles,  far  up  the  village  street 

Was  heard  the  clatter  of  horses'  feet, 

And  a  band  of  signal-men  swung  in  sight, 

Hasting  back  from  the  ebbing  fight 

That  had  swept  away  to  the  left  and  right. 

"  Ride!  "  yelled  the  regulars,  all  aghast, 
And  over  the  heads  of  the  signal-men, 
As  they  whirled  in  desperate  gallop  past, 


156  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

The  bullets  a  vicious  music  made, 
Like  the  whistle  and  whine  of  the  midnight  blast 
On  the  weltering  wastes  of  the  ocean  when 
The  breast  of  the  deep  is  scourged  and  flayed. 

It  chanced  in  the  line  of  the  fiercest  fire 

A  rebel  bullet  had  clipped  the  wire 

That  led,  from  the  front  and  the  fighting,  down 

To  those  that  stayed  in  Manila  town ; 

This  gap  arrested  the  watchful  eye 

Of  one  of  the  signal-men  galloping  by, 

And  straightway,  out  of  the  plunge  and  press, 

He  reined  his  horse  with  a  swift  caress 

And  a  word  in  the  ear  of  the  rushing  steed; 

Then  back  with  never  a  halt  nor  heed 

Of  the  swarming  bullets  he  rode,  his  goal 

The  parted  wire  and  the  slender  pole 

That  stood  where  the  deadly  tower  looked  down 

On  the  rack  and  ruin  of  Paco  town. 

Out  of  his  saddle  he  sprang  as  gay 
As  a  schoolboy  taking  a  holiday; 
Wire  in  hand  up  the  pole  he  went 
With  never  a  glance  at  the  tower,  intent 
Only  on  that  which  he  saw  appear 
As  the  line  of  his  duty  plain  and  clear.   « 
To  the  very  crest  he  climbed,  and  there, 
While  the  bullets  buzzed  in  the  scorching  air, 
Clipped  his  clothing,  and  scored  and  stung 
The  slender  pole-top  to  which  he  clung, 
Made  the  wire  that  was  severed  sound, 
Slipped  in  his  careless  way  to  the  ground, 
Sprang  to  the  back  of  his  horse,  and  then 
Was  off,  this  bravest  of  signal-men. 


IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  157 

Cheers  for  the  hero !     While  such  as  he, 
Heedless  alike  of  wounds  and  scars, 
Fight  for  the  dear  old  Stripes  and  Stars, 
Down  through  the  years  to  us  shall  be 
Ever  and  ever  the  victory ! 

CLINTON  SCOLLARU. 


Hn  Ctme  of  peace 


IN  TIME  OF  PEACE 


ALL  sobbing,  shrieking,  swirls  the  gale, 

December  in  its  sweep, 
Till  ocean's  hoary  face  is  pale 

With  foam,  abysses  deep; 
Then  see  within  the  furious  spray 
A  ship  against  the  gray ! 

The  sirens  sing  by  George's  shoal 

And  lure  their  victim  in, 
So  the  Lord  Gougk,  through  surge  and  roll, 

The  dismal  drift  and  din, 
Comes  round  to  where  the  breakers  comb 
Into  sheer,  wind-swept  foam. 

They  see,  half-way  the  shattered  mast, 
The  Stars  and  Stripes  stand  out; 

They  hear,  above  the  howling  blast, 
Old  Hughes,  with  mighty  shout, 

"  Now,  boys,  three  hearty  English  cheers! 

Come  forward,  volunteers!  " 

IX 

161 


1 62  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

They  man  their  boat,  these  gallant  tars, 
Though  skies  beat  down  the  sea — 

When  falls  the  flag  with  all  its  stars, 
Then  to  the  masthead  free 

Runs  up,  the  blue  above,  to  swear, 

"  For  us  Fate  still  is  fair!  " 

In  frosty  blasts  that  seek  to  blow 
Their  valor  from  the  helm, 

They  row  as  they  would  have  you  row 
When  billows  overwhelm : 

The  baffled  storm  its  witness  bears — 

The  Cleopatra  's  theirs ! 

He  thaws  the  winter  from  his  bone, 
He  mourns  the  ship  so  gone, 

And  Pendleton  tells  great  gales  blown, 
Despair  since  drifting  dawn; 

Water-logged,  with  his  boats  stove  in, 

WThat  hope  was  his  to  win  ? 

He  saw  the  sailors  on  the  Gough — 
Death  stood  before  his  eyes, 

He  knew  they  would  be  putting  off 
Where  seas  beat  back  the  skies ; 

His  flag  free  on  the  tempest  flew 

Lest  they  should  perish  too.     .     .     . 

While  Englishmen  in  mercy  go 
Cheering,  to  war  with  Death, 

While  the  Americans  can  throw 
Off  hope,  for  others'  breath, 

A  tyrant  Fate  need  slink  afraid, 

From  clear  eyes,  undismayed. 


IN    TIME    OF  PEACE  163 

And  oh,  ye  folk  of  English  speech, 
When  such  a  brood  ye  've  borne, 

What  favor  need  ye  e'er  beseech 
From  Fate  so  ripe  for  scorn  ? 

'T  is  yours,  ye  freemen,  by  your  birth, 

All  that  ye  will  on  earth! 

WALLACE  RICE. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author.) 

56 

IN  THE  TUNNEL 

DID  N'T  know  Flynn, — 

Flynn  of  Virginia, — 
Long  as  he  's  been  'yar  ? 
Look  'ee  here,  stranger, 
Whar  kev  you  been  ? 

Here  in  this  tunnel 

He  was  my  pardner, 
That  same  Tom  Flynn, — 

Working  together, 

In  wind  and  weather, 
Day  out  and  in. 

Did  n't  know  Flynn! 

Well,  that  is  queer ; 
Why,  it  's  a  sin 
To  think  of  Tom  Flynn, — 

Tom  with  his  cheer, 

Tom  without  fear, — 
Stranger,  look  'yar! 


164  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Thar  in  the  drift, 

Back  to  the  wall, 
He  held  the  timbers 

Ready  to  fall ; 

Then  in  the  darkness 
I  heard  him  call: 

"  Run  for  your  life,  Jake! 

Run  for  your  wife's  sake! 

Don't  wait  for  me." 
And  that  was  all 

Heard  in  the  din, 

Heard  of  Tom  Flynn, — 
Flynn  of  Virginia. 

That  *s  all  about 

Flynn  of  Virginia. 
That  lets  me  out. 

Here  in  the  damp, — 
Out  of  the  sun, — 

That  'ar  derned  lamp 
Makes  my  eyes  run. 
Well,  there, — I  'm  done! 

But,  sir,  when  you  'U 
Hear  the  next  fool 

Asking  of  Flynn, — 
Flynn  of  Virginia, — 

Just  you  chip  in, 

Say  you  knew  Flynn  ; 
Say  that  you  've  been  'yar. 

BRET  HAUTE. 

(By  special  permission  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Company.) 


IN   TIME   OF  PEACE  165 

57 

THE  BALLAD  OF  CALNAN'S   CHRISTMAS 

WHEN  you  hear  the  fire-gongs  beat  fierce  along  the 

startled  street, 

See  the  great-limbed  horses  bound,  and  the  gleam 
ing  engine  sway, 

And  the  driver  in  his  place,  with  his  fixed,  heroic  face, 
Say  a  prayer  for  Calnan's  sake  —  he  that  died  on 
Christmas  day ! 

Cling!     Cling!     Each  to  his  station! 
Clang!     Clang!     Quick  to  clear  the  way! 

(Christ  keep  the  soldiers  of  salvation, 
Fighting   nameless   battles   in   the  war  of  every 
day!) 

In  the  morning,  blue  and  mild,  of  the  Mother  and  the 

Child, 
While  the  blessed   bells  were  calling,   thrilled  the 

summons  through  the  wire; 
In  the  morning,  blue  and  mild,  for  a  woman  and  a 

child 

Died  a  man  of  gentle  will,  plunging  on  to  fight  the 
fire. 

Ring,  swing,  bells  in  the  steeple! 
Ring  the  Child  and  ring  the  Star,  as  sweetly  as  ye 

may! 

Ring,  swing,  bells,  to  tell  the  people 
God's  good  will  to  earthly  men,  the  men  of  every 
day! 


1 66  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Thirty-four  "  swung  out  agleam,  with  her  mighty, 

bounding  team; 
Horses'  honor  pricked  them  on,  and  they  leaped  as 

at  a  goad ; 
Jimmy  Calnan  in  his  place,  with  his  clean-cut  Irish 

face, 
Iron  hands  upon  the  reins,  eyes  a-strain  upon  the 

road. 


Clang!     Clang!     Quick  to  clear  the  way! 
(Sweetly    rang,    above    the    clang,    the   bells   of 
Christmas  day.) 


Tearing,  plunging  through  the  din,  scarce  a  man  could 

hold  them  in ; 
None  on  earth  could  pull  them  short :  Mary  Mother, 

guide  from  harm 
Yonder  woman  straight  ahead,  stony  still  with  sudden 

dread, 

And  the  little  woman-child,  with  her  waxen  child 
in  arm ! 


Oh,  God's  calls,  how  swift  they  are!     Oh,  the  Cross 

that  hides  the  Star! 
Oh,  the  fire-gong  beating  fierce  through  the  bells  of 

Christmas  day! 
Just  a  second  there  to  choose,  and  a  life  to  keep  or 

lose — 

To  the  curb  he  swung  the  horses,  and  he  flung  his 
life  away ! 


IN    TIME   01-    PEACE  167 

Ring,  swing,  bells  in  the  steeple! 
Ring  the  Star  and  ring  the  Cross,  for  Star  and 

Cross  are  one ! 

Ring,  swing,  bells,  to  tell  the  people 
God  is  pleased  with  manly  men,  and  the  deeds 
that  they  have  done! 

HELEN  GRAY  CONE. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  The  Century  Company.) 

58 

HOW  HE  SAVED  ST.  MICHAEL'S 

IT  was  long  ago  it  happened,  ere  ever  the  signal  gun 
That  blazed    above    Fort    Sumter   had   wakened  the 

North  as  one ; 

Long  ere  the  wondrous  pillar  of  battle-cloud  and  fire 
Had  marked  where  the  unchained  millions  marched 

on  to  their  hearts'  desire. 

On  the  roofs  and  the  glittering  turrets,  that  night,  as 

the  sun  went  down, 
The  mellow  glow  of  the  twilight  shone  like  a  jewelled 

crown, 
And,  bathed  in  the  living  glory,  as  the  people  lifted 

their  eyes, 

They  saw    the    pride    of   the    city,    the  spire   of   St. 
Michael's,  rise 

High  over  the  lesser  steeples,  tipped  with  a  golden  ball, 
That  hung  like  a  radiant  planet  caught  in  its  earthward 
fall; 


168  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

First    glimpse  of  home  to  the  sailor  who  made  the 

harbor  round, 
The  last  slow-fading  vision  dear  to  the  outward  bound. 

The  gently  gathering  shadows  shut  out  the  waning 

light; 
The  children  prayed  at  their  bedsides,  as  you  will  pray 

to-night; 
The  noise  of  buyer  and  seller  from  the  busy  mart  was 

gone, 
And  in  dreams  of  a  peaceful  morrow  the  city  slumbered 

on. 

But  another  light  than  sunrise  aroused  the  sleeping 

street, 
For  a  cry  was  heard  at  midnight,   and  the  rush  of 

trampling  feet ; 
Men  stared,  in  each  other's  faces  through  mingled  fire 

and  smoke, 
While  the  frantic  bells  went  clashing  clamorous  stroke 

on  stroke! 

By  the  glare  of  her  blazing  roof-tree  the  houseless 

mother  fled, 
With  the  babe  she  pressed  to  her  bosom  shrieking  in 

nameless  dread, 
While  the  fire-king's  wild  battalions  scaled  wall  and 

capstone  high, 
And  planted  their  flaring  banners  against  an  inky  sky. 

From  the  death  that  raged  behind  them  and  the  crash 

of  ruin  loud, 
To  the  great  square  of  the  city,  were  driven  the  surging 

crowd, 


IN    TIME   OF  PEACE  169 

Where  yet  firm  in  all  the  tumult,  unscathed  by  the 

fiery  flood, 
With  its  heavenward-pointing  finger  the  church  of  St. 

Michael  stood. 

But  e'en  as  they  gazed  upon  it  there  rose  a  sudden 

wail, 

A  cry  of  horror  blended  with  the  roaring  of  the  gale, 
On  whose  scorching  wings  updriven  a  single  flaming 

brand 
Aloft  on    the    towering   steeple    clung   like  a  bloody 

hand. 

"  Will  it  fade?  "  The  whisper  trembled  from  a  thou 
sand  whitening  lips; 

Far  out  on  the  lurid  harbor  they  watched  it  from  the 
ships — 

A  baleful  gleam  that  brighter  and  ever  brighter  shone, 

Like  a  flickering,  trembling  will-o'-the-wisp  to  a  steady 
beacon  grown. 

Uncounted  gold  shall  be  given  to  the  man  whose 

brave  right  hand, 
For  the  love  of   the  periled   city,    plucks  down  yon 

burning  brand !  " 
So  cried  the  Mayor  of  Charleston,  that  all  the  people 

heard, 
But  they  looked  each  one  at  his  fellow,  and  no  man 

spoke  a  word. 

Who  is  it  leans  from  the  belfry,  with  face  upturned  to 

the  sky  ? 
Clings  to  a  column  and  measures  the  dizzy  spire  with 

his  eye  ? 


I/O  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Will  he  dare   it,  the    hero    undaunted,   that  terrible, 

sickening  height  ? 
Or  will  the  hot  blood  of  his  courage  freeze  in  his  veins 

at  the  sight  ? 


But  see!  he  has  stepped  on  the  railing,  he  climbs  with 
his  feet  and  his  hands. 

And  firm  on  a  narrow  projection  with  the  belfry  be 
neath  him  he  stands! 

Now  once,  and  once  only,  they  cheer  him — a  single, 
tempestuous  breath — 

And  there  falls  on  the  multitude  gazing  a  hush  like 
the  stillness  of  death. 


Slow,  steadily  mounting,    unheeding  aught  save  the 

goal  of  the  fire, 
Still  higher  and  higher,  an  atom,  he  moves  on  the  face 

of  the  spire ; 
He  stops!     Will  he  fall  ?     Lo,  for  answer,  a  gleam  like 

a  meteor's  track! 
And,  hurled  on  the  stones  of  the  pavement,  the  red 

brand  lies  shattered  and  black! 


Once   more   the  shouts  of  the  people  have  rent  the 

quivering  air, 
At  the  church-door  Mayor  and  Council  wait  with  their 

feet  on  the  stair, 
And  the  eager  throng  behind  them  press  for  a  touch 

of  his  hand — 
The   unknown  savior  whose  daring  could  compass  a 

deed  so  grand, 


IN    TIME   OF  PEACE  \"J\ 

But  why  does  a  sudden  tremor  seize  on  them  while 

they  gaze  ? 
And  what  means  the  stifled  murmur  of  wonder  and 

amaze  ? 
He  stood   in  the  gate  of  the  temple  he  had  periled 

his  life  to  save, 
And  the  face  of  the  hero  undaunted  was  the  sable  face 

of  a  slave ! 

With  folded  arms  he  was  speaking,  in  tones  that  were 

clear,  not  loud, 
And  his  eyes,  ablaze  in  their  sockets,  burnt  into  the 

eyes  of  the  crowd  : 
You  may  keep  your  gold, — I  scorn  it ! — but  answer 

me,  ye  who  can, 
If  the  deed  I  have  done  before  you  be  not  the  deed  of 

a  man  ?  ' 

He  stepped  but  a  short  space  backward,  and  from  all 

the  women  and  men 
There  were  only  sobs  for  answer,  and  the  Mayor  called 

for  a  pen 
And  the  great  seal  of  the  city,  that  he  might  read  who 

ran ; 
And  the  slave  who  saved  St.  Michael's  went  out  from 

the  door,  a  man. 

MARY  ANNA  PHI.NNEY  STANSBURY. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author.) 

59 
THE   RIDE   OF   COLLINS   GRAVES 

No  song  of  a  soldier  riding  down 

To  the  raging  fight  of  Winchester  town ; 


172  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

No  song  of  a  time  that  shook  the  earth 
With  the  nation's  throe  at  a  nation's  birth; 
But  the  song  of  a  brave  man  free  from  fear 
As  Sheridan's  self  or  Paul  Revere; 
Who  risked  what  they  risked, — free  from  strife 
And  its  promise  of  glorious  pay, — his  life. 

The  peaceful  valley  has  waked  and  stirred, 
And  the  answering  echoes  of  life  are  heard; 
The  dew  still  clings  to  the  trees  and  grass, 
And  the  early  toilers  smiling  pass, 
As  they  glance  aside  at  the  white-walled  homes, 
Or  up  the  valley  where  merrily  comes 
The  brook  that  sparkles  in  diamond  rills 
As  the  sun  comes  over  the  Hampshire  hills. 

What  was  it  passed  like  an  ominous  breath  ? 
Like  a  shiver  of  fear,  or  a  touch  of  death  ? 
What  was  it  ?     The  valley  is  peaceful  still, 
And  the  leaves  are  afire  on  the  top  of  the  hill; 
It  was  not  a  sound,  nor  a  thing  of  sense, — 
But  a  pain,  like  a  pang  in  the  short  suspense 
That  wraps  the  being  of  those  who  see 
At  their  feet  the  gulf  of  eternity. 

The  air  of  the  valley  has  felt  the  chill ; 
The  workers  pause  at  the  door  of  the  mill; 
The  housewife,  keen  to  the  shivering  air, 
Arrests  her  foot  on  the  cottage  stair, 
Instinctive  taught  by  the  mother-love, 
And  thinks  of  the  sleeping  ones  above. 

Why  start  the  listeners  ?     Why  does  the  course 
Of  the  mill-stream  widen  ?     Is  it  a  horse— 


IN   TIME   OF  PEACE  1/3 

"  Hark  to  the  sound  of  the  hoofs!  "  they  say — 
That  gallops  so  wildly  Williamsburg  way  ? 
God !  what  was  that  like  a  human  shriek 
From  the  winding  valley  ?     Will  nobody  speak  ? 
Will  nobody  answer  those  women  who  cry 
As  the  awful  warnings  thunder  by  ? 

Whence  come  they  ?     Listen!  and  now  they  hear 

The  sound  of  the  galloping  horse-hoofs  near; 

They  watch  the  trend  of  the  vale,  and  see 

The  rider  who  thunders  so  menacingly, 

With  waving  arms  and  warning  scream 

To  the  home-filled  banks  of  the  valley  stream. 

He  draws  no  rein,  but  he  shakes  the  street 

With  a  shout  and  the  ring  of  the  galloping  feet, 

And  this  the  cry  that  he  flings  to  the  wind, — 

' '  To  the  hills  for  your  lives  !   The  flood  is  behind  !  ' ' 

He  cries  and  is  gone,  but  they  know  the  worst, — 

The  treacherous  Williamsburg  dam  has  burst! 

The  basin  that  nourished  their  happy  homes 

Is  changed  to  a  demon.     It  comes!  it  comes! 

A  monster  in  aspect,  with  shaggy  front 

Of  shattered  dwellings  to  take  the  brunt 

Of   the   dwellings   they   shatter;  —  white-maned   and 

hoarse 

The  merciless  terror  fills  the  course 
Of  the  narrow  valley,  and  rushing  raves 
With  death  on  the  first  of  its  hissing  waves, 
Till  cottage  and  street  and  crowded  mill 
Are  crumbled  and  crushed.     But  onward  still, 
In  front  of  the  roaring  flood,  is  heard 
The  galloping  horse  and  the  warning  word. 


174  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Thank  God  that  the  brave  man's  life  is  spared! 
From  Williamsburg  town  he  nobly  dared 
To  race  with  the  flood,  and  to  take  the  road 
In  front  of  the  terrible  swath  it  mowed. 
For  miles  it  thundered  and  crashed  behind, 
But  he  looked  ahead  with  a  steadfast  mind  : 
"  They  must  be  warned  !  "  was  all  he  said, 
As  away  on  his  terrible  ride  he  sped. 

When  heroes  are  called  for,  bring  the  crown 
To  this  Yankee  rider;  send  him  down 
On  the  stream  of  time  with  the  Curtius  old; 
His  deed,  as  the  Roman's,  was  brave  and  bold ; 
And  the  tale  can  as  noble  a  thrill  awake, 
For  he  offered  his  life  for  the  people's  sake! 

JOHN  BOYLE  O'REILLY. 
(By  special  permission  of  Miss  Mary  Boyle  O'Reilly.) 

60 

JIM  BLUDSO 

WALL,  no!     I  can't  tell  whar  he  lives, 

Becase  he  don't  live,  you  see; 
Leastways,  he  's  got  out  of  the  habit 

Of  livin'  like  you  and  me. 
Whar  have  you  been  for  the  last  three  year 

That  you  have  n't  heard  folks  tell 
How  Jimmy  Bludso  passed  in  his  checks 

The  night  of  the  Prairie  Belle  ? 

He  wer'  n't  no  saint, — them  engineers 
Is  all  pretty  much  alike, — 


IN    TIME   OF  PEACE  1 75 

One  wife  in  Natchez-under-the-Hill 

And  another  one  here,  in  Pike; 
A  keerless  man  in  his  talk  was  Jim, 

And  an  awkward  hand  in  a  row, 
But  he  never  flunked,  and  he  never  lied, — 

I  reckon  he  never  knowed  how. 

And  this  was  all  the  religion  he  had, — 

To  treat  his  engine  well ; 
Never  be  passed  on  the  river ; 

To  mind  the  pilot's  bell; 
And  if  ever  the  Prairie  Belle  took  fire, — 

A  thousand  times  he  swore, 
He  'd  hold  her  nozzle  agin  the  bank 

Till  the  last  soul  got  ashore. 

All  boats  has  their  day  on  the  Mississip, 

And  her  day  come  at  last, — 
The  Movastar  was  a  better  boat, 

But  the  Belle  she  would  nt  be  passed. 
And  so  she  come  tearin'  along  that  night — 

The  oldest  craft  on  the  line — 
With  a  nigger  squat  on  her  safety-valve, 

And  her  furnace  crammed,  rosin  and  pine. 

The  fire  bust  out  as  she  clared  the  bar, 

And  burnt  a  hole  in  the  night, 
And  quick  as  a  flash  she  turned,  and  made 

For  that  wilier-bank  on  the  right. 
There  was  runnin'  and  cursin',  but  Jim  yelled  out, 

Over  all  the  infernal  roar, 
"  I  '11  hold  her  nozzle  agin  the  bank 

Till  the  last  galoot  's  ashore." 


BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Through  the  hot,  black  breath  of  the  burnin'  boat 

Jim  Bludso's  voice  was  heard, 
And  they  all  had  trust  in  his  cussedness, 

And  knovved  he  would  keep  his  word. 
And  sure  's  you  're  born,  they  all  got  off 

Afore  the  smokestacks  fell, — 
And  Bludso's  ghost  went  up  alone 

In  the  smoke  of  the  Prairie  Belle. 

He  wer'  n't  no  saint, — but  at  jedgment 

I  'd  run  my  chance  with  Jim, 
'Longside  of  some  pious  gentlemen 

That  would  ri't  shook  hands  with  him. 
He  seen  his  duty,  a  dead-sure  thing, — 

And  went  for  it  thar  and  then ; 
And  Christ  ain't  a-going  to  be  too  hard 

On  a  man  that  died  for  men. 

JOHN  HAY. 

(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  Houghton,  Mifflin  and 
Company.) 

61 
GEORGE  NIDIVER 

MEN  have  done  brave  deeds, 

And  bards  have  sung  them  well; 

I  of  good  George  Nidiver 
Now  the  tale  will  tell. 

In  California!!  mountains 

A  hunter  bold  was  he; 
Keen  his  eye  and  sure  his  aim 

As  any  you  should  see. 


IN   TIME   OF  PEACE  Ij '7 

A  little  Indian  boy 

Followed  him  everywhere, 
Eager  to  share  the  hunter's  joy, 

The  hunter's  meal  to  share. 

And  when  the  bird  or  deer 

Fell  by  the  hunter's  skill, 
The  boy  was  always  near 

To  help  with  right  good  will. 

One  day  as  through  the  cleft 

Between  two  mountains  steep, 
Shut  in  both  right  and  left, 

Their  questing  way  they  keep, 

They  see  two  grizzly  bears, 

With  hunger  fierce  and  fell, 
Rush  at  them  unawares 

Right  down  the  narrow  dell. 

The  boy  turned  round  with  screams, 

And  ran  with  terror  wild ; 
One  of  the  pair  of  savage  beasts 

Pursued  the  shrieking  child. 

The  hunter  raised  his  gun,  ' 

He  knew  one  charge  was  all, 
And  through  the  boy's  pursuing  foe 

He  sent  his  only  ball. 

The  other  on  George  Nidiver 

Came  on  with  dreadful  pace; 
The  hunter  stood  unarmed, 

And  met  him  face  to  face. 

I  say  unarmed  he  stood; 
Against  those  frightful  paws, 


1/8  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

The  rifle  butt,  or  club  of  wood, 
Could  stand  no  more  than  straws. 

George  Nidiver  stood  still, 
And  looked  him  in  the  face; 

The  wild  beast  stopped  amazed, 
Then  came  with  slackened  pace. 

Still  firm  the  hunter  stood, 
Although  his  heart  beat  high ; 

Again  the  creature  stopped, 

And  gazed  with  wondering  eye. 

The  hunter  met  his  gaze, 

Nor  yet  an  inch  gave  way ; 
The  bear  turned  slowly  round, 

And  slowly  moved  away. 

What  thoughts  were  in  his  mind 

It  would  be  hard  to  spell; 
What  thoughts  were  in  George  Nidiver's 

I  rather  guess  than  tell. 

But  sure  that  rifle's  aim, 

Swift  choice  of  generous  part, 

Showed  in  its  passing  gleam 
The  depths  of  a  brave  heart. 

ANONYMOUS 

62 

A  MAN'S  NAME 

THROUGH  the  packed  horror  of  the  night 

It  rose  up  like  a  star, 
And  sailed  into  the  infinite, 

Where  the  immortals  are. 


IN    TIME   OF  PEACE 

"  Down  brakes!  "     One  splendid  hard-held  breath, 

And  lo,  an  unknown  name 
Strode  into  sovereignty  from  death 

Trailing  a  path  of  flame! 

"  Jump!  "       'I  remain." — No  needless  word, 

No  vagueness  in  his  breast; 
Along  his  blood  the  swift  test  stirred — 

He  answered  to  the  test, 

Gripped  his  black  peril  like  a  vise, 

And,  as  he  grappled,  saw 
That  life  is  one  with  sacrifice, 

And  duty  one  with  law. 

Home: — but  his  feet  grew  granite  fast; 

Wife: — yet  he  did  not  reel; 
Babes: — ah,  they  tugged!  but  to  the  last 

He  stood  as  true  as  steel. 

Above  his  own  heart's  lovingness, 

Above  another's  crime, 
Above  the  immitigable  stress, 

Above  himself  and  time, 

Smote  loving  Comfort  on  the  cheek, 

Gave  quibbling  Fear  the  lie, 
Taught  ambling  Fluence  how  to  speak, 

And  brave  men  how  to  die. 

Who  said  the  time  of  kings  was  gone  ? 

Who  said  our  Alps  were  low, 
And  not  by  God's  airs  blown  upon  ? 

Behold,  it  is  not  so! 


1 80  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  SLAVERY 

Out  from  the  palace  and  the  hut, 

Dwarf-fronted,  lame  of  will, 
Limp  our  marred  Joves  and  giants — but 

Sceptered  for  mastery  still, 

And  clothed  with  puissance  to  quell 

Whatever  mobs  of  shame 
Are  leagued  within  us,  with  such  spell 

As  David  Simmons'  name. 

RICHARD  REALF. 

(From  Poems,  by  Richard  Realf.     Copyright,  Funk  and  Wagnalls 
Company,  1898.     By  special  permission.) 

63 

THE  MAN  WHO  RODE  TO  CONEMAUGH 

INTO  the  town  of  Conemaugh, 

Striking  the  people's  souls  with  awe, 

Dashed  a  rider,  aflame  and  pale, 

Never  alighting  to  tell  his  tale, 

Sitting  his  big  bay  horse  astride. 

"  Run  for  your  lives  to  the  hills!  "  he  cried; 

"  Run  to  the  hills!  "  was  what  he  said, 

As  he  waved  his  hand  and  dashed  ahead. 

"  Run  for  your  lives  to  the  hills!  "  he  cried, 
Spurring  his  horse,  whose  reeking  side 
Was  flecked  with  foam  as  red  as  flame. 
Whither  he  goes  and  whence  he  came 
Nobody  knows.     They  see  his  horse 
Plunging  on  in  his  frantic  course, 
Veins  distended  and  nostrils  wide, 
Fired  and  frenzied  at  such  a  ride. 


IN   TIME   OF  PEACE  l8l 

Nobody  knows  the  rider's  name — 

Dead  forever  to  earthly  fame. 

"  Run  to  the  hills!  to  the  hills!  "  he  cried; 

"  Run  for  your  lives  to  the  mountain  side!  " 

"  Stop  him!  he  's  mad!  just  look  at  him  go! 
'T  ain't  safe,"  they  said,  "  to  let  him  ride  so." 
'  He  thinks  he  can  scare  us,"  said  one,  with  a  laugh, 
"  But  Conemaugh  folks  don't  swallow  no  chaff; 
'T  ain't  nothing,  I  '11  bet,  but  the  same  old  leak 
In  the  dam  above  the  South  Fork  Creek." 
Blind  to  their  danger,  callous  of  dread, 
They  laughed  as  he  left  them  and  dashed  ahead. 

Run  for  your  lives  to  the  hills!  "  he  cried, 
Lashing  his  horse  in  his  desperate  ride. 

Down  through  the  valley  the  rider  passed, 

Shouting,  and  spurring  his  horse  on  fast; 

But  not  so  fast  did  the  rider  go 

As  the  raging,  roaring,  mighty  flow 

Of  the  million  feet  and  the  millions  more 

Of  water  whose  fury  he  fled  before. 

On  he  went,  and  on  it  came, 

The  flood  itself  a  very  flame 

Of  surging,  swirling,  seething  tide, 

Mountain  high  and  torrents  wide. 

God  alone  might  measure  the  force 

Of  the  Conemaugh  flood  in  its  V-shaped  course. 

Behind  him  were  buried  under  the  flood 

Conemaugh  town  and  all  who  stood 

Jeering  there  at  the  man  who  cried, 

"  Run  for  your  lives  to  the  mountain  side! " 


182  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

On  he  sped  in  his  fierce,  wild  ride. 

Run  to  the  hills!  to  the  hills!  "  he  cried. 
Nearer,  nearer  raged  the  roar 
Horse  and  rider  fled  before. 
Dashing  along  the  valley  ridge, 
They  came  at  last  to  the  railroad  bridge. 
The  big  horse  stood,  the  rider  cried, 

Run  for  your  lives  to  the  mountain  side!  " 
Then  plunged  across,  but  not  before 
The  mighty,  merciless  mountain  roar 
Struck  the  bridge  and  swept  it  away 
Like  a  bit  of  straw  or  a  wisp  of  hay. 
But  over  and  under  and  through  that  tide 
The  voice  of  the  unknown  rider  cried, 

Run  to  the  hills!  to  the  hills!  "  it  cried, — 

Run  for  your  lives  to  the  mountain  side!  " 

JOHN  ELIOT  BOWEN. 

(By  special  permission  of  Edward  A.   Bowen,  Esq.,  and  of  Harper 
and  Brothers.) 


THE  journals  this  morning  are  full  of  a  tale 

Of  a  terrible  ride  through  a  tunnel  by  rail; 

And  people  are  called  on  to  note  and  admire 

How  a  hundred  or  more,  through  the  smoke-cloud  and 

fire, 

Were  borne  from  all  peril  to  limbs  and  to  lives — 
Mothers  saved    to    their   children,    and    husbands   to 

wives. 
But  of  him  who  performed  such  a  notable  deed 


IN   TIME   OF  PEACE  183 

Quite  little  the  journalists  give  us  to  read. 
In  truth,  of  this  hero  so  plucky  and  bold 
There  is  nothing  except,  in  few  syllables  told, 
His  name,  which  is  Johnny  Bartholomew. 

Away  in  Nevada — they  don't  tell  us  where, 
Nor  does  it  much  matter — a  railway  is  there 
Which  winds  in  and  out  through  the  cloven  ravines, 
With  glimpses  at  times  of  the  wildest  of  scenes: 
Now  passing  a  bridge  seeming  fine  as  a  thread, 
Now  shooting  past  cliffs  that  impend  o'er  the  head, 
Now  plunging  some  black-throated  tunnel  within, 
Whose  darkness  is  roused  at  the  clatter  and  din; 
And  ran  every  day  with  its  train  o'er  the  road 
An  engine  that  steadily  dragged  on  its  load, 
And  was  driven  by  Johnny  Bartholomew. 

With  throttle-valve  down,  he  was  slowing  the  train, 
While  the  sparks  fell  around  and  behind  him  like  rain. 
As  he  came  to  a  spot  where  a  curve  to  the  right 
Brought  the   black,   yawning    mouth   of  a  tunnel  in 

sight, 

And,  peering  ahead  with  a  far-seeing  ken, 
Felt  a  quick  sense  of  danger  come  oVer  him  then. 
Was  a  train  on  the  track  ?     No!     A  peril  as  dire — 
The  farther  extreme  of  the  tunnel  on  fire! 
And  the  volume  of  smoke,  as  it  gathered  and  rolled, 
Shook  fearful  dismay  from  each  dun-colored  fold, 
But  daunted  not  Johnny  Bartholomew. 

Beat  faster  his  heart,  though  its  current  stood  still, 
And  his  nerves  felt  a  jar,  but  no  tremulous  thrill; 
And  his   eyes  keenly  gleamed   through   their  partly 
closed  lashes, 


1 84  BAU.ADS  OF  AMF.KICAX  BRAVERY 

And  his  lips — not  with  fear — took  the  color  of  ashes. 

If  we  falter,  these  people  behind  us  are  dead! 
So  close  the  doors,  fireman;  we  '11  send  her  ahead! 
Crowd  on  the  steam  till  she  rattles  and  swings! 
Open  the  throttle- valve!  give  her  her  wings!  " 
Shouted  he  from  his  post  in  the  engineer's  room, 
Driving  onward  perchance  to  a  terrible  doom, 

This  man  they  call  Johnny  Bartholomew. 

Firm  grasping  the  bell-rope  and  holding  his  breath, 
On,  on  through  the  Vale  of  the  Shadow  of  Death; 
On,  on  through  the  horrible  cavern  of  hell, 
Through  flames  that  arose  and  through  timbers  that 

fell, 

Through  the  eddying  smoke  and  the  serpents  of  fire 
That  writhed  and  that  hissed  in  their  anguish  and  ire. 
With    a   rush    and    a    roar    like    the    wild    tempest's 

blast, 

To  the  free  air  beyond  them  in  safety  they  passed ; 
While  the  clang  of  the  bell  and  the  steam-pipe's  shrill 

yell 

Told  the  joy  of  escape  from  that  underground  hell 
Of  the  man  they  called  Johnny  Bartholomew. 

Did  the  passengers  get  up  a  service  of  plate  ? 
Did  some  oily-tongued  orator  at  the  man  prate  ? 
Women  kiss  him  ?     Young  children  cling  fast  to  his 

knees  ? 

Stout  men  in  their  rapture  his  brown  fingers  squeeze  ? 
And  where  was  he  born  ?     Is  he  handsome  ?     Has  he 
A  wife  for  his  bosom,  a  child  for  his  knee  ? 
Is  he  young  ?     Is  he  old  ?     Is  he  tall  ?     Is  he  short  ? 


/.V    TIME   O/^  PEACE  1 85 

Well,  ladies,  the  journals  tell  naught  of  the  sort. 
And  all  that  they  give  us  about  him  to-day, 
After  telling  the  tale  in  a  commonplace  way, 

Is — the  man's  name  is  Johnny  Bartholomew. 

THOMAS  DUNN  ENGLISH. 

(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  Harper  and  Brothers.) 

65 

HIS  NAME 

O,  THE  billows  of  fire! 
With  maelstrom-like  swirl, 
Their  surges  they  hurl 
Over  roof,  over  spire, 
Mad,  masterless,  higher, 
Till  rumble — crack — crash — 
Down  boom  with  a  flash, 

Whole  columns  of  granite  and  marble:  see!  see! 
Sucked  in  as  a  weed  on  the  ocean  might  be, 

Or  engulfed  as  a  sail 
In  the  hurricane-riot  and  wreak  of  the  gale! 

Ha!  yonder  they  rush  where  the  death-dealing  steam, 

Over-pent,  waits  their  gleam 

To  shudder  the  city  with  earthquake !     Who,  who 
Will  adventure  mid-flame,  and  unfasten  the  screw, 
Set  the  fiend  loose,  and  save  us  so  ?     Firemen,  you— 
You  willing  ?    Would  God  you  might  hazard  it!    Nay, 
The  red  tongues  are  licking  the  faucets  now!     Stay! 

Too  late! — 't  is  too  late! 
If  ruin,  explosion,  must  come,  let  us  wait 


1 86  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVER? 

Its  coming:  to  go  is  to  perish. — Hold!  hold! 

You  are  young — I  am  old — 
You  've  a  wife  too — and  children  ?   .    .    .    O  God,  he 

is  gone 

Straight  into  destruction  !     The  pipes,  men  !    On — on! 
Play  the  water-stream  on  him — full — faster — the  whole  ! 

And  now   ....    Christ  save  his  soul ! 

I  stifle — I  choke — 

And  he — Heaven  grant  that  he  smother  in  smoke 
Ere  the  dread  detonation!     Hark!  —  hark!     What's 
the  shout  ? 

Is  he  saved  f     Is  he  out  ? 
Did  he  compass  his  purpose  ?   .    .    .    The  hero!     One 

name 

This  pencil  of  fire  on  the  records  of  Fame 
Shall  blazon,  if  justice  is  meted.     Why  here 

On  my  cheek  is  a  tear, 

Which  not  a  whole  city  in  ashes  could  claim! 
His  name,  now, — can  nobody  tell  me  his  name  ? 

— MARGARET  JUNKIN  PRESTON. 
(By  special  permission  of  Dr.  George  J.  Preston.) 

66 
OLD   BRADDOCK 

FlRE!  fire  in  Allentown! 

The  Women's  Building — it  must  go. 
Mothers  wild  rush  up  and  down, 

Despairing  men  push  to  and  fro; 
Two  stories  caught — one  story  more — 
See — see — old  Braddock  's  to  the  fore, 
Braddock,  full  three-score. 


IN    TIME   01-   PEACE  l8/ 

Like  a  high  granite  rock 

His  good  gray  head  looms  huge  and  bare; 
Firm  as  rock  in  tempest  shock 

He  towers  above  the  tallest  there. 
"  Conrad!  "     'T  is  Braddock  to  his  son, 
The  prop  he  thinks  to  lean  upon 
When  his  work  is  done. 

Conrad,  the  young  and  brave, 

Unflinching  meets  his  father's  eye: 
44  Who  would  now  the  children  save, 

That  they  die  not  himself  must  die." 
The  boy,  in  that  white  face  no  fear — 
But,  oh,  it  is  so  sweet,  so  dear — 
Life  at  twenty  year ! 

"  Father — Father!  "     A  quick 

Embrace,  and  he  has  set  his  feet 
On  the  ladder.     Rolling  thick, 

The  flame-shot  smoke  chokes  all  the  street, 
So  blinds  one  only  has  descried 
Her  form,  that,  through  its  dreadful  tide, 
Springs  to  Conrad's  side. 

Strong  she  is,  now,  as  he, 

Throbbing  with  love's  own  lion  might; 
Strong  as  beautiful  is  she, 

And  Conrad's  arms  are  pinioned  tight. 
14  Far  through  the  fire,  sits  God  above —  " 
In  vain  he  pleads;  full  docs  it  prove, 
Her  full  strength  of  love. 

Too  late  she  sets  him  free- 
High  overhead  his  father's  call: 


1 88  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

From  a  height  no  eye  can  see 

Calls  hoary  Braddock  down  the  wall, — 
"  Old  men  are  Death's,  let  him  destroy. 
Young  men  are  Life's,  Conrad,  my  boy — 
Life's  and  Love's,  my  boy!  " 

Wilder  the  women's  cries, 

Hoarser  the  shouts  of  men  below; 

Sheets  of  fire  against  the  skies, 
Set  all  the  stricken  town  aglow. 

With  sweep  and  shriek,  with  rush  and  roar, 

The  flames  shut  round  old  Braddock  hoar — 

Braddock,  full  three-score. 

"  Save,  save  my  children,  save!  " 

"  Aye,  aye!  "  all  answer,  speak  as  one, 

"  If  man's  arm  can  from  the  grave 

Bring  back  your  babes,  it  will  be  done; 

Know  Braddock  still  is  worth  us  all — 

Hark — hark!     It  is  his  own  brave  call, — 

'  Back — back  from  the  wall ! ' 

God,  God,  that  it  should  be! 

As  savagely  the  lashed  wind  veers, 
Fiercer  than  the  fiery  sea 

The  frantic  crowd  waves  hands,  and  cheers ; 
An  old  man  high  in  whirl  of  hell! 
The  children — how,  no  soul  can  tell — 
Braddock  holds  them  well. 

Shorn  all  that  good,  gray  head 

With  snows  of  sixty  winters  sown  • 
Griped  around  the  children's  bed, 


IN   TIME   OF  PEACE  189 

One  arm  is  shriveled  to  the  bone: 
"  Old  men  are  Death's,  let  him  destroy, 
Young  men  are  Life's,  Conrad,  my  boy, 
Life's  and  Love's,  my  boy!  "... 

Fire!  fire  in  Allentown  ! 

Though  't  was  a  hundred  years  ago, 
How  the  babes  were  carried  down, 

To-day  the  village  children  know. 
They  know  of  Braddock's  good  gray  head, 
They  know  the  last,  great  words  he  said. 
Know  how  he  fell — dead. 

JOHN  VANCE  CHENEY. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author.) 

67 

IN  APIA  BAY 

(Morituri  vos  salutamus) 

RUIN  and  death  held  sway 

That  night  in  Apia  Bay, 
And  smote  amid  the  loud  and  dreadful  gloom. 

But,  Hearts,  no  longer  weep 

The  salt  unresting  sleep 
Of  the  great  dead,  victorious  in  their  doom. 

Vain,  vain  the  strait  retreat 

That  held  the  fated  fleet, 
Trapped  in  the  two-fold  threat  of  sea  and  shore! 

Fell  reefs  on  either  hand, 

And  the  devouring  strand! 
Above,  below,  the  tempest's  deafening  roar! 


BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

What  mortal  hand  shall  write 

The  horror  of  that  night, 
The  desperate  struggle  in  that  deadly  close, 

The  yelling  of  the  blast, 

The  wild  surf,  white,  aghast, 
The  whelming  seas,  the  thunder  and  the  throes! 

How  the  great  cables  surged, 

The  giant  engines  urged, 
As  the  brave  ships  the  unequal  strife  waged  on! 

Not  hope,  not  courage  flagged ; 

But  the  vain  anchors  dragged. 
Down  on  the  reefs  they  shattered,  and  were  gone! 

And  now  were  wrought  the  deeds 

Whereof  each  soul  that  reads 
Grows  manlier,  and  burns  with  prouder  breath, — 

Heroic  brotherhood, 

The  loving  bonds  of  blood, 
Proclaimed  from  high  hearts  face  to  face  with  death. 

At  length,  the  English  ship 

Her  cables  had  let  slip, 
Crowded  all  steam,  and  steered  for  the  open  sea, 

Resolved  to  challenge  Fate, 

To  pass  the  perilous  strait, 
And  wrench  from  jaws  of  ruin  Victory. 

With  well-tried  metals  strained, 

In  the  storm's  teeth  she  gained, 
Foot  by  slow  foot  made  head,  and  crept  toward  life. 

Across  her  dubious  way 

The  good  ship  Trenton  lay, 
Helpless,  but  thrilled  to  watch  the  splendid  strife. 


IN   TIME  OF  PEACE  191 

Helmless  she  lay,  her  bulk 

A  blind  and  wallowing  hulk, 
By  her  strained  hawsers  only  held  from  wreck, 

But  dauntless  each  brave  heart 

Played  his  immortal  part 
In  strong  endurance  on  the  reeling  deck. 

They  fought  Fate  inch  by  inch, — 

Could  die,  but  could  not  flinch; 
And,  biding  the  inevitable  doom, 

They  marked  the  English  ship, 

Baffling  the  tempest's  grip, 
Forge  hardly  forth  from  the  expected  tomb. 

Then,  with  exultant  breath, 

These  heroes  waiting  death, 
Thundered  across  the  storm  a  peal  of  cheers, — 

To  the  triumphant  brave 

A  greeting  from  the  grave, 
Whose  echo  shall  go  ringing  down  the  years. 

'  To  you,  who  well  have  won, 

From  us,  whose  course  is  run, 
Glad  greeting,  as  we  face  the  undreaded  end!  " 

The  memory  of  those  cheers 

Shall  thrill  in  English  ears 
Where'er  this  English  blood  and  speech  extend. 

No  manlier  deed  comes  down, 

Blazoned  in  broad  renown, 
From  men  of  old  who  lived  to  dare  and  die ! 

The  old  fire  yet  survives, 

Here  in  our  modern  lives, 
Of  splendid  chivalry  and  valor  high ! 

CHARLES  GEORGE  DOUGLAS  ROBERTS. 
(By  special  permission  of  the  author,  and  of  The  YoutKs  Companion.} 


NOTES 

[For  information  incorporated  in  the  notes  the  Editor  is  indebted  to 
many  of  the  authors  represented  in  the  volume.  He  has  also,  in  several 
instances,  received  valuable  suggestions  from  Mr.  Francis  F.  Browne's 
"Bugle  Echoes."  The  notes  are  intended  to  be  suggestive  rather  than 
in  any  sense  exhaustive.] 

In  ftime  ot  Strife 

I.  PAUL  REVERE'S  RIDE.     By  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow,  the  most  widely  read  and  most 
beloved  American  poet,  was  born  in  Portland,  Maine,  February 
27,  1807,  and  died  in  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  where  he  had 
long  resided,  March  24,  1882. 

Paul  Revere,  who  was  a  self-taught  engraver  upon  copperplate,  and 
who  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution  was  one  of  the  four  engravers  in 
America,  rendered  his  first  important  service  as  a  messenger  in  con 
nection  with  the  throwing  overboard  of  the  tea  in  Boston  harbor. 
Before  he  took  his  most  famous  ride  he  had  traveled  several  thousand 
miles  in  the  interest  of  the  "  patriot  "  cause,  and  after 

"  the  eighteenth  of  April,  in  Seventy-Five," 

continued  to  act  as  a  bearer  of  dispatches.  He  was  one  of  the  com 
mittee  of  upwards  of  thirty  formed  in  Boston  to  watch  the  movements  of 
the  British  soldiers.  On  the  memorable  evening  of  April  i8th,  troops 
were  observed  marching  toward  the  bottom  of  the  Common.  About 
ten  o'clock  Revere  was  apprised  of  this  fact,  whereupon  he  at  once 
repaired  to  the  house  of  Dr.  Joseph  Warren  (afterward  General  War 
ren),  one  of  the  committee.  There  he  discovered  that  an  "express," 
one  William  Dawe*,  had  already  been  sent  by  land  to  Lexington. 


194  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Hurriedly  seeking  his  friend,  Robert  Newman,  the  sexton  of  the  "  Old 
North  Church  "  (Christ  Church,  Salem  Street),  and  arranging  for  the 
display  of  the  signal  previously  agreed  upon,  Revere  set  out.  He  suc 
ceeded  in  reaching  Lexington  before  Dawes,  who  joined  him  about  half 
an  hour  after  his  arrival.  The  two,  together  with  Dr.  Prescott,  "a 
high  Son  of  Liberty,"  started  in  company  for  Concord,  but  were  inter 
cepted  at  Lincoln  by  a  party  of  British.  Revere  and  Dawes  were  cap 
tured,  but  Prescott  managed  to  escape  by  jumping  his  horse  over  a 
stone  wall.  It  was  he  who  rode  on  to  Concord,  alarming  the  country 
side  as  he  went. 

Of  Dawes's  part  in  the  enterprise  of  the  night,  Helen  F.  More  wrote 
thus  humorously  in  the  Century  Magazine  for  February,  1896 : 

WHAT  '  S  IN  A   NAME  ? 

I  am  a  wandering,  bitter  shade  ; 
Never  of  me  was  a  hero  made  ; 
Poets  have  never  sung  my  praise, 
Nobody  crowned  my  brows  with  bays ; 
And  -if  you  ask  me  the  fatal  cause, 
I  answer  only,  "  My  name  was  Dawes." 

1  T  is  all  very  well  for  children  to  hear 
Of  the  midnight  ride  of  Paul  Revere  ; 
But  why  should  my  name  be  quite  forgot, 
Who  rode  so  boldly  and  well,  God  wot? 
Why  should  I  ask  ?     The  reason  is  clear — 
My  name  is  Dawes  and  his  Revere. 

When  the  lights  from  the  Old  North  Church  flashed  out, 

Paul  Revere  was  waiting  about, 

But  I  was  already  on  my  way.      % 

The  shadows  of  night  fell  cold  and  gray 

As  I  rode,  with  never  a  break  or  pause  ; 

But  what  was  the  use,  when  my  name  was  Dawes? 

History  rings  with  his  silvery  name  ; 
Closed  to  me  are  the  portals  of  fame. 
Had  he  been  Dawes  and  I  Revere, 
No  one  had  heard  of  him,  I  fear. 
No  one  has  heard  of  me  because 
He  was  Revere  and  I  was  Dawes. 


NOTES — IN   TIME  OF  STRIFE  195 

Paul  Revere  was  born  within  sight  of  the  "  Old  North  Church,"  and 
almost  under  its  shadow  he  lived  and  died  (1735-1818).  It  is  fitting, 
then,  that  to-day  the  passer  should  see,  imbedded  in  the  solid  masonry 
of  the  tower,  a  tablet  bearing  this  inscription  : 

THE   SIGNAL  LANTERNS   OF 

PAUL   REVERE 
DISPLAYED   IN   THE   STEEPLE   OF  THIS  CHURCH 

APRIL   IS,    1775, 

WARNED   THE  COUNTRY   OF  THE   MARCH 

OF    THE    BRITISH    TROOPS    TO 

LEXINGTON   AND   CONCORD. 

2.  MARY  BUTLER'S  RIDE.     By  Benjamin  Franklin  Taylor. 

Benjamin  Franklin  Taylor  was  born  in  Lowville,  New  York,  July 
19,  1819.  He  was  best  known  as  a  lecturer.  He  died  in  Cleve 
land,  Ohio,  February  24,  1887. 

Of  the  poem  the  author  says  :  "  The  story  of  '  Mary  Butler's  Ride '  is 
unembellished  truth.  To  one  of  her  grandsons,  J.  M.  Taylor,  Esq.,  of 
New  York,  I  am  indebted  for  the  incident.  To  hear  men  say, — those 
far-away  boys  of  hers,  and  yet  busy  in  life's  affairs, — 'many  a  time  I 
have  heard  her  tell  the  story! '  brings  the  gray-eyed  Mary  Butler  strangely 
near.  It  is  like  raising  a  dead  century  to  instant  resurrection." 

1.  39.  Stark  (John,  1728-1822),  a  Continental  brigadier-general 
who  distinguished  himself  at  Bunker  Hill  and  Bennington. 

1.  84.  Putnam  (Israel,  1718-1790),  a  Continental  major-general, 
active  at  Bunker  Hill  and  in  various  other  engagements  until  stricken 
by  paralysis  in  1779.  His  daring  escape  from  the  British  soldiers  by 
riding  down  a  flight  of  stone  steps  in  the  town  of  Greenwich,  Con 
necticut,  occurred  in  March,  1779. 

3.  THE  SURPRISE  AT  TICONDEROGA.  By  Mary  Anna  PhinneyStansbury. 

Mary  Anna  Phinney  Stansbury,  a  magazine  writer  who  resides  in 
Appleton,  Wisconsin,  was  born  in  Vernon,  New  York,  October  5, 
1842. 

Ethan  Allen,  the  hero  of  Ticonderoga,  though  born  in  Litchfield, 
Connecticut  (January  10,  1737),  early  removed  to  Vermont.  He  partic 
ipated  in  the  invasion  of  Canada  under  General  Schuyler,  and  was  there 
captured  and  sent  a  prisoner  to  England,  where  he  suffered  many  priva 
tions.  It  was  largely  through  his  instrumentality  that  Vermont  was 


196  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

recognized  as  an  independent  State.  He  died  in  Burlington,  February 
13,  1789. 

The  fortress  of  Ticonderoga  (a  corruption  of  the  Iroquois  "Cheon- 
deroga,"  meaning  "rushing  waters")  was  erected  by  the  French,  in 
I755>  °n  the  western  shore  of  Lake  Champlain,  near  the  outlet  of  Lake 
George.  It  was  originally  called  Fort  Carillon  (chime  of  bells)  from 
the  neighboring  waterfall  (see  stanza  6).  It  was  here  that  the  French 
under  Montcalm  (stanza  13)  repulsed  the  English  under  Abercrombie, 
on  the  8th  of  July,  1758. 

Allen's  bold  capture  was  effected  on  the  morning  of  May  IO,  1775. 

At  the  time  of  the  taking  of  Ticonderoga  by  Allen,  the  garrison  con 
sisted  of  but  forty-eight  men  under  the  command  of  Captain  Delaplace. 
The  Continental  Congress,  which  Allen  invoked  at  the  time  of  the 
surrender,  had  not  yet  organized.  It  held  its  first  session  six  hours  later 
on  that  very  day. 

Stanza  n.     King  David.     See  2  Samuel  v.,  23,  24. 

The  Vermont  "  Green  Mountain  Boys,"  mentioned  so  prominently  in 
a  number  of  engagements  in  the  Revolution,  were  first  organized  in 
1772  to  resist  the  civil  power  of  New  York. 

In  connection  with  Mrs.  Stansbury's  poem  it  may  be  interesting  to 
read  Robert  Louis  Stevenson's  ballad,  "Ticonderoga." 

4.  MONTGOMERY  AT  QUEBEC.     By  Clinton  Scollard. 

Clinton  Scollard,  born  in  Clinton,  New  York,  September  18,  1860. 

Richard  Montgomery  was  a  native  of  the  North  of  Ireland.  He 
entered  the  British  army  at  the  age  of  twenty,  and  served  with  dis 
tinction  under  Wolfe,  and  later  in  the  campaign  against  the  Spanish 
West  Indies.  Marrying  a  daughter  of  Robert  R.  Livingston,  and  set 
tling  upon  the  Hudson,  at  Rhinebeck,  he  espoused  the  cause  of  the 
colonists  at  the  opening  of  the  war.  In  the  expedition  against  Canada 
he  was  second  in  command  under  Schuyler,  with  the  rank  of  brigadier- 
general.  The  attack  upon  Quebec  was  made  early  in  the  morning  of 
the  3ist  of  December,  1775.  Montgomery's  death  was  regarded  as 
a  great  public  calamity.  Congress  passed  resolutions  of  regret  and  con 
dolence,  and  Chatham  and  Burke  eulogized  the  dead  leader  on  the  floor 
of  the  British  Parliament.  At  the  time  of  his  death  he  was  thirty-eight 
years  of  age. 

Stanza  6.  Wolfe  (James),  the  "hero  of  Louisburg "  and  the 
conqueror  of  Quebec,  fell  upon  the  Plains  of  Abraham  in  his  thirty- 
second  year.  He  is  to  this  day  regarded  as  one  of  the  half  dozen 
most  noted  generals  that  England  has  produced.  Quebec  was  taken 
on  the  1 3th  of  September,  1759. 


A'OTF.S — 7.V    TIMI-:    Of'   STRIFE  197 

5.  THK  MARYLAND  BATTALION.     By  John  Williamson  Palmer. 

John  Williamson  I'almer,  a  Baltimore  physician,  the  author  of  the 
famous  lyric,  "Stonewall  Jackson's  Way,"  and  Bret  Harte's  fore 
runner  in  "breaking  the  virgin  soil  of  California  in  the  field  of 
American  letters,"  was  born  in  the  city  of  Baltimore,  April  4,  1825 

This  ballad  celebrates  the  heroism  of  the  "  Maryland  Battalion"  at 
the  battle  of  Long  Island,  August  27,  1776,  where  they  checked  the 
advance  of  Cornwallis,  and  saved  a  portion  of  Stirling's  command  from 
capture.  Two  hundred  and  fifty-nine  were  left  dead  on  the  field. 

Stanza  2.  It  was  in  the  Flatbush  district,  on  the  American  left, 
that  General  Sullivan  was  driven  back  by  the  Hessians  and  flanked  by 
Clinton's  light  infantry  and  dragoons. 

Martense's  lane  was  a  "  pass,"  or  road,  on  the  southern  border  of 
Greenwood  Cemetery.  Freeke's  Mill  (stanza  4)  stood  upon  Freeke's 
mill-pond  at  the  head  of  Gowanus  Creek. 

Stanza  4.  Grant,  the  British  general  who  commanded  the  left 
wing  in  the  battle  of  Long  Island.  It  was  he  who  declared  in  the 
House  of  Commons  that  the  Americans  could  not  fight,  and  said  he 
would  undertake  to  march  from  one  end  of  the  continent  to  the  other 
with  five  thousand  men. 

Stanza  5.  Stirling  (William  Alexander),  commonly  called  Lord 
Stirling,  was  the  eldest  son  of  James  Alexander  Stirling,  heir  presump 
tive  to  the  earldom  of  Stirling,  who  fled  to  America  in  1716  after  having 
been  actively  involved  in  the  Jacobite  conspiracy  of  the  previous  year. 
Lord  Stirling  was  born  in  New  York  City  in  1726.  He  was  aide-de 
camp. and  secretary  to  General  Shirley  in  the  French  and  Indian  War, 
and  received  a  commission  as  brigadier-general  in  the  Continental  army 
in  1776.  Afte'r  the  battle  of  Long  Island,  Congress  made  him  a  major- 
general.  He  died  at  Albany  in  January,  1783. 

Mordecai  Gist  was  a  major  in  the  "  Maryland  Battalion"  who  subse 
quently  rose  to  the  rank  of  brigadier-general.  He  was  a  native  of 
Baltimore. 

6.  ARNOLD  AT  STILLWATER.     By  Thomas  Dunn  English. 

Thomas  Dunn  English,  a  physician  of  Newark,  New  Jersey,  was 

born  in   Philadelphia,   Pennsylvania,   June  29,  1819.     Since  early 

life  Dr.  English  has  been  a  contributor  to  the  periodicals  of  the 

day.     His  popular  ballad,  "  Ben  Bolt,"  appeared  in  1842. 

Benedict  Arnold  was  born  in  Norwich,  Connecticut,  January  3,  1740. 

He  was  in  command  of  a  volunteer  company  at  the  outbreak  of  the 

Revolution,  and  inarched  at  once  to  Cambridge.     He  served  with  great 


198  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

bravery  on  Lake  Champlain,  in  Canada,  and  at  Stillwater.  After  his 
treason  he  received  a  brigadier-general's  commission  in  the  British 
army.  At  the  close  of  the  war  he  went  to  England,  where  he  re 
sided  most  of  the  time  until  his  death,  June  14,  1801.  The  second 
battle  of  Stilhvater  (sometimes  called  Bemis's  Heights  and  sometimes 
Saratoga)  was  fought  October  7,  1777.  Of  Arnold's  part  in  this  battle 
George  William  Curtis  says,  in  his  Centennial  Oration  :  "  The  British, 
dismayed,  bewildered,  overwhelmed,  were  scarcely  within  their  re 
doubts,  when  Benedict  Arnold,  to  whom  the  jealous  Gates,  who  did  not 
come  upon  the  field  during  the  day,  had  refused  a  command,  outriding 
an  aide  whom  Gates  had  sent  to  recall  him,  came  spurring  up  :  Bene 
dict  Arnold — whose  name  America  does  not  love, — whose  ruthless  will 
had  dragged  the  doomed  Canadian  expedition  through  the  starving  wil 
derness  of  Maine,  who,  volunteering  to  relieve  Fort  Stanwix,  had,  by 
the  mere  terror  of  his  coming,  blown  St.  Leger  away,  and  who  on  the 
igth  of  September  had  saved  the  American  left.  Benedict  Arnold, 
whom  battle  stung  to  fury,  now  whirled  from  -end  to  end  of  the 
American  line,  hurled  it  against  the  great  redoubt,  driving  the  enemy  at 
the  point  of  the  bayonet ;  then  flinging  himself  to  the  extreme  right, 
and  finding  there  the  Massachusetts  brigade,  swept  it  with  him  to  the 
assault,  and  streaming  over  the  breastworks,  scattered  the  Bruns- 
wickers  who  defended  them,  killed  their  colonel,  gained  and  held  the 
point  which  commanded  the  entire  British  position,  while  at  the  same 
moment  his  horse  was  shot  under  him,  and  he  sank  to  the  ground 
wounded  in  the  leg  that  had  been  wounded  at  Quebec.  Here,  upon 
the  Hudson,  where  he  tried  to  betray  his  country  ;  here,  upon  the  spot 
where,  in  the  crucial  hour  of  the  Revolution,  he  illustrated  and  led  the 
American  valor  that  made  us  free  and  great,  knowing  well  that  no 
earlier  service  can  condone  for  a  later  crime,  let  us  recall  for  one  brief 
instant  of  infinite  pity  the  name  that  has  been  justly  execrated  for  a 
century." 

Horatio  Gates,  who  commanded  the  American  forces  at  the  battle  of 
Stilhvater,  was  an  Englishman  by  birth,  and  had  served  under  Brad- 
dock.  He  was  made  adjutant-general  at  the  opening  of  the  Revo 
lution,  and  accompanied  Washington  to  Cambridge  when  "  the  great 
Virginian  "  went  thither  to  take  charge  of  the  army.  Just  before  the 
battle  of  Stilhvater  Gates  superseded  General  Schuyler  in  the  command 
of  the  army  of  the  north.  He  suffered  a  disastrous  defeat  at  Camden, 
when  at  the  head  of  the  southern  forces.  His  patriotism  was  undoubted, 
but  he  lacked  the  judgment  of  a  great  commander. 

Burgoyne  (John,   1723-1792),  who  commanded  the  British  forces  at 


NOTES — IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  199 

the  battle  of  Stillwater,  had  distinguished  himself  in  Portugal,  and  had 
also  been  a  member  of  the  British  Parliament  before  coming  to  America. 
Much  was  expected  of  his  expedition.  It  was  intended  to  cut  the  colo 
nies  in  twain,  and  thus  crush  the  rebellion.  Burgoyne  was  at  one  time 
commander-in-chief  in  Ireland.  During  the  closing  years  of  his  life  he 
devoted  himself  to  literature. 

Stanza  5.  Poor  (Enoch),  a  New  Hampshire  brigadier-general 
who  served  with  distinction  in  the  Continental  army  until  1780,  when 
he  died  at  Hackensack,  New  Jersey. 

Learned  (Ebenezer),  a  Massachusetts  brigadier-general  who  had 
served  in  the  French  and  Indian  War. 

Stanza  6.  Cilley  (Joseph),  a  New  Hampshire  colonel  who  was 
later  in  the  commands  of  General  Wayne  and  General  Sullivan. 

Stanza  7.  Major  Ackland,  of  the  Grenadier  corps,  a  most  gallant 
British  officer,  was  shot  through  both  legs  in  this  battle.  He  recov 
ered,  but  after  his  return  to  England  he  was  slain  in  a  duel  into  which 
he  was  drawn  through  his  defence  of  the  bravery  of  the  Americans. 

Stanza  12.  Armstrong  (John),  a  Pennsylvania  major,  at  first 
attached  to  the  staff  of  General  Hugh  Mercer,  and  later  to  that  of  Gen 
eral  Clates,  with  whom  he  remained  until  the  close  of  the  war. 

Stanza  16.  Brooks  (John),  a  Massachusetts  colonel  who  after 
ward  became  adjutant-general. 

Wesson  (James),  a  Massachusetts  colonel  who  commanded  a  regi 
ment  in  Learned's  brigade. 

Livingston  (James),  a  New  York  colonel  who  commanded  a  regiment 
in  Learned's  brigade. 

Morgan  (Daniel),  a  native  of  New  Jersey  whose  family  removed  to 
Virginia  while  he  was  yet  young.  He  served  with  much  distinction 
throughout  the  Revolution,  and  rose  to  the  rank  of  major-general. 

7.  THE  YANKEE  MAN-OF-WAR.     Anonymous. 

Of  this  spirited  ballad  Alfred  M.  Williams,  in  his  "Studies  in  Folk 
Song  and  Popular  Poetry,"  says  :  "To  this  period,  however  [the  Revo 
lution],  belongs  what  is  perhaps  the  very  best  of  American  sea-songs. 
We  do  not  know  whether  its  authorship  was  of  that  time  or  not, 
although  it  probably  was,  and  from  internal  evidence  it  would  seem  to 
have  been  composed  by  one  of  the  very  crew  of  the  Ranger,  Paul 
Jones's  ship,  which  escaped  from  a  British  squadron  in  the  Irish  Chan 
nel  in  1778.  It  was  first  published,  in  1883,  by  Commodore  Luce,  in 
his  collection  of  '  Naval  Songs,'  with  the  statement  that  it  was  taken 
clown  from  the  recitation  of  a  sailor."  To  this  fact  is  doubtless  due  the 


200  BALLADS   OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

very  evident  break  in  the  form  of  the  fifth  stanza.  Most  of  the  places 
mentioned  in  the  poem  (save  Dunmore,  a  promontory  on  the  south 
western  coast)  are  situated  on  the  southeastern  coast  of  Ireland. 

The  spirit  of  the  piece,  the  frequent  recurrence  of  technical  ex 
pressions,  together  with  the  swinging  measure,  remind  one  (albeit  some 
what  remotely)  of  the  work  of  the  foremost  balladist  of  our  day, — 
Rudyard  Kipling. 

8.  THE  RIDE  OF  JENNIE  M'NEAL.     By  Will  Carleton. 

Will  Carleton  was  born  in  Hudson,  Michigan,  October  21,  1845. 
He  is  best  known  by  his  domestic  ballads,  "  Over  the  Hill  to  the 
Poorhouse  "  and  "  Betsey  and  I  Are  Out." 

The  "Neutral  Ground"  of  the  poem — Westchester  County,  New 
York — was  so  called  because  it  was  held  neither  by  the  British  nor 
the  American  armies  during  the  Revolutionary  War.  This  locality  is 
the  scene  of  some  of  the  most  stirring  passages  in  Cooper's  Spy. 

Last  stanza.     Putnam.     See  "  Mary  Butler's  Ride." 

9.  THE  SONG  OF  MARION'S  MEN.     By  William  Cullen  Bryant. 

William  Cullen  Bryant,  "  the  father  of  American  song,"  was  born 
in  Cummington,  Massachusetts,  November  3,  1794.  For  fifty  years 
he  was  the  editor  of  the  New  York  Evening  Post.  He  died  in  New 
York  City,  June  12,  1878.  In  "  Thanatopsis"  and  "To  a  Water 
fowl  "  his  genius  finds  its  highest  expression. 

Francis  Marion,  one  of  the  most  noted  partisan  leaders  of  the  Revo 
lution,  was  born  near  Georgetown,  South  Carolina,  in  1732.  He  was  of 
Huguenot  ancestry.  He  took  part  in  the  Cherokee  war  of  1761,  and 
rendered  conspicuous  service  throughout  the  struggle  of  the  colonies  for 
independence,  particularly  during  the  last  two  years.  It  is  said  that  the 
brilliant  British  cavalry  leader,  Colonel  Tarleton,  first  gave  him  the 
name  of  "  swamp- fox."  He  died  at  his  plantation  near  Eutaw,  South 
Carolina,  in  February,  1795. 

10.  How  WE  BURNED  THE  "  PHILADELPHIA."     By  Barrett  Eastman. 
Barrett  Eastman,  a  Chicago  journalist,  was  born  in  Chicago,  Janu 
ary  25,  1869. 

"  The  destruction  of  the  Philadelphia,  which  Lord  Nelson,  then  com 
manding  the  British  blockading  fleet  off  Toulon,  called  '  the  most  bold 
and  daring  act  of  the  age,' was  effected  on  the  night  of  February  9,  1804. 
In  the  party,  numbering  but  seventy-five  officers  and  men  all  told,  were 


NOTES — IN    TIME    OF  STRIFE  2OI 

Stephen  Decatur,  Jr.,  James  Lawrence,  Joseph   Bainbridge,   Thomas 
Macdonough,  and  many  others  who  rose  to  distinction." — B.  E. 

Stephen  Decatur,  who  commanded  the  expedition  against  the  Phila 
delphia,  was  of  French  descent,  and  was  born  in  Sinnepuxent,  Mary 
land,  January  5,  1779.  He  first  saw  service  against  the  French,  was 
active  in  the  war  of  1812,  and  chastised  the  Algerines  in  1815.  He  was 
killed  in  a  duel  by  Commodore  James  Barren  on  March  22,  1820. 

11.  THE  "  SHANNON"  AND  THE  "  CHESAPEAKE."      By  Thomas  Tracy 
Bouve. 

Thomas  Tracy  Bouve  was  born  in  Hingham,  Massachusetts,  June 
23.  1875.  He  is  the  author  of  several  other  stirring  ballads. 

Lawrence  (James),  was  born  in  Burlington,  New  Jersey,  October  i, 
1781.  He  was  prominent  in  Decatur's  expedition  to  destroy  the  Phila 
delphia.  He  commanded  the  Hornet,  which  sank  the  brig-of-war  Pea 
cock,  a  victory  which  led  to  his  being  appointed  to  the  Chesapeake.  It 
was  from  Boston  harbor  that  he  sailed  to  meet  the  Shannon,  June  i, 
1813.  He  died  at  sea  five  days  later. 

Stanza  5.  Hingham,  a  town  of  Plymouth  County,  Massachusetts, 
fourteen  miles  southeast  of  Boston,  on  Massachusetts  Bay. 

Stanza  10.  Broke  (Philip  Bowes  Vere),  the  captain  of  the  Shan 
non,  who  was  knighted  for  his  victory  over  the  Chesapeake,  and  became 
a  popular  hero  in  England. 

12.  THE  FIGHT  OF  THE  "ARMSTRONG"  PRIVATEER.     By  James  Jeffrey 
Roche. 

James  Jeffrey  Roche,  a  journalist  and  ballad  writer  of  much  vigor, 
was  born  in  Queens  County,  Ireland,  May  31,  1847.  His  early  life 
was  spent  on  Prince  Edward  Island.  He  removed  to  Boston  in 
1866,  and  on  the  death  of  John  Boyle  O'Reilly  succeeded  him  as 
editor  of  the  Pilot. 

The  memorable  "Fight  of  the  Armstrong  Privateer"  took  place 
September  26  and  27,  1814.  The  British  lost  one  hundred  and  twenty 
men  killed  and  one  hundred  and  eighty  wounded,  while  the  Americans 
had  but  two  killed  and  seven  wounded. 

Samuel  Chester  Reid,  who  commanded  the  Armstrong,  was  the  son 
of  a  lieutenant  in  the  British  navy.  He  was  at  one 'time  harbor-master 
and  warden  of  the  port  of  New  York,  and  was  the  designer  of  the 
present  form  of  the  United  States  flag,  proposing  to  retain  the  original 
thirteen  stripes  and  add  a  new  star  whenever  a  new  State  was  admitted 
to  the  Union. 


2O2  BALLADS   OF  AMERICAN  BKAl'ERY 

1.  IO.  Nelson  (Horatio),  England's  most  noted  naval  commander, 
the  hero  of  Copenhagen,  Aboukir  Bay,  Egypt,  where  he  destroyed  the 
French  fleet,  and  of  Trafalgar,  where  he  was  victorious  over  the  com 
bined  fleets  of  France  and  Spain,  and  where  he  met  his  death,  October 
21,  1805. 

1.  12.  Dundonald  (Thomas  Cochrane,  Earl  of  Dundonald,  1749- 
1831),  a  distinguished  Scottish  seaman. 

1.  31.  Dartmoor,  an  English  prison  in  Devonshire.  It  was  built  in 
1806,  during  the  Napoleonic  wars,  for  the  retention  of  prisoners.  Seven 
Americans  were  killed  here,  and  sixty  wounded,  on  April  16,  1815,  a 
brutal  and  unprovoked  act. 

1.  40.     Pico,  one  of  the  middle  group  of  the  Azores. 

1.  42.  Lloyd  (Captain  Robert),  of  the  Plantagenet,  the  commander 
of  the  English  fleet. 

13.   THE  MEN  OF  THE  ALAMO.     By  James  Jeffrey  Roche. 

James  Jeffrey  Roche.      See  note  on  "  The  Fight  of  the  Armstrong 
Privateer." 

The  Alamo  was  a  Spanish  Mission  at  San  Antonio,  founded  early  in  the 
1 8th  century.  Later  it  was  transformed  into  a  fortress.  In  addition  to 
the  church,  with  adjacent  buildings  used  as  quarters  for  the  soldiers  and 
for  the  magazine,  there  was  a  rectangular  space  about  one  hundred  and 
fifty  yards  long  and  fifty  yards  wide  protected  by  a  stone  wall  from  six 
to  eight  feet  in  height  and  nearly  three  feet  in  thickness.  This  enclos 
ure  was  defended  by  fourteen  or  more  cannon.  The  storming  of  the 
Alamo  took  place  on  the  morning  of  the  6th  of  March,  1836.  There 
were  188  Texans  defending  the  place,  while  the  Mexican  force  numbered 
from  2500  to  5000.  Three  women,  a  child,  and  a  negro  servant  sur 
vived  the  fight.  The  statement  in  the  last  line  of  the  poem  refers  to 
the  defenders. 

1.  I.  Houston  (Samuel,  1793-1863),  a  Virginian  by  birth,  the  com- 
mander-in-chief  of  the  army  of  the  Texas  republic.  He  was  the  second 
president  (first  by  regular  election)  of  the  Republic  of  Texas,  and  after 
ward  United  States  senator  and  the  governor  of  the  State. 

1.  4.  Nueces,  a  river  of  southern  Texas  emptying  into  Corpus 
Christ!  Bay. 

1.  5.  Castrillon,  a  Mexican  general  (a  Spaniard  by  birth)  who  was 
killed  at  San  Jacinto,  where  he  had  command  of  the  artillery.  It  was 
he  who  had  charge  of  the  assault  on  the  Alamo. 

Cos  (Martin  Perfecto  de),  a  Mexican  general,  and  brother-in-law  of 
Santa  Anna.  He  was  in  command  at  San  Antonio  when  the  place  was 


NOTES — IN    TIME   OF  STRIFE  2O3 

surrendered  to  the  Texans  in  December,  1835.  He  was  released  upon 
parole  under  the  promise  that  he  would  not  oppose  the  re-establishment 
of  the  Federal  Constitution  of  1824.  He  returned  with  Santa  Anna  the 
following  year,  and  participated  in  the  attack  upon  the  Alamo,  hence 
the  epithet  "perjured." 

Sesma  (Ramirez  y),  a  Mexican  general. 

Almonte  (Juan  Nepomunceno),  the  son  of  a  Mexican  priest  an«J 
patriot.  He  was  a  colonel  in  the  Mexican  army,  and  Santa  Anna'; 
secretary.  He  at  one  time  served  as  the  Mexican  minister  to  the  United 
States.  He  was  an  upholder  of  Maximilian  and  served  in  his  cabinet. 
When  that  ill-fated  prince  fell,  Almonte  escaped  to  France,  where  he 
died  two  or  three  years  later. 

1.  6.  Santa  Anna  (Antonio  Lopez  de,  1795-1876),  several  times 
president  of  Mexico,  and  when  not  in  power  usually  a  conspirator 
against  the  head  of  the  government.  He  was  in  command  of  the 
Mexican  army  in  the  war  against  the  Texans,  and  again  in  the  war  with 
the  United  States.  He  served  under  Maximilian,  and  against  him.  No 
less  than  six  times  he  was  exiled,  or  fled  the  country. 

1.  13.  Travis  (William  Barrett,  1811-1836),  the  colonel  who  com 
manded  at  the  defence  of  the  Alamo,  by  birth  an  Alabamian.  He 
practiced  law  in  his  native  State  in  his  early  manhood,  but  emigrated  to 
Texas  in  1832,  and  there  became  interested  in'  the  cause  of  independ 
ence.  He  was  of  fine  stature,  and  noted  for  his  intrepidity. 

1.  16.  Bowie  (James,  1790-1836),  a  Georgian  who  gained  notoriety 
on  account  of  his  part  in  a  bloody  melee  which  followed  a  duel  fought 
opposite  Natchez,  on  the  Mississippi,  in  August,  1827.  It  is  said  that 
it  was  in  this  encounter  that  the  famous  knife  which  afterward  bore 
Bowie's  name  was  first  used.  The  original  weapon  was  maue  from  a 
blacksmith's  broken  rasp  or  file.  Bowie  emigrated  from  Louisiana, 
where  he  was  living  at  the  time  of  the  duel,  to  Texqs,  and  was  active  in 
the  Texan  struggle  till  his  death. 

1.  17.  Evans  (Robert),  a  Texan  major  of  artillery  who  was  shot 
when  on  the  point  of  firing  a  train  to  blow  up  the  magazine  of  the 
Alamo  at  Travis's  order. 

1.  29.  Crockett  (David,  familiarly  known  as  "  Davy/'  1786-1836). 
This  noted  frontiersman  was  a  Tennesseean.  He  was  prominent  in  the 
Creek  war,  and  after  a  wild  life  as  a  scout  and  hunter  became  a  member 
of  the  State  legislature,  and  then  of  Congress.  His  waning  influence 
with  his  constituents,  owing  to  tlie  fact  that  he  opposed  Jackson,  r.iu^cil 
him  to  join  tlic  Tcxanx  in  tlu-ir  stru^j-Jr  f->r  liberty. 

1.  54-    San  Jacinto.    See  note  on  following  poem, 


2O4  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRA  VER  Y 

1.  57.     Thermopylae,  the   pass   from   Thessaly  into   Locris  where 
Leonidas  and  his  three  hundred  Spartans  fell,  B.C.  480. 
14.  THE  FIGHT  AT  THE  SAN  JACINTO.     By  John  Williamson  Palmer. 
John  Williamson  Palmer.  See  note  on  "  The  Maryland  Battalion." 

The  San  Jacinto  is  a  river  in  southern  Texas  which  joins  Buffalo 
Bayou  very  near  where  that  stream  empties  into  Galveston  Bay.  The 
battle  by  which  the  Texans  gained  their  independence  took  place  on  the 
2ist  of  April,  1836.  The  Texan  army  numbered  exactly  seven  hundred 
and  eighty- three  men,  while  the  Mexicans  had  more  than  double  that 
force. 

Stanza  I.  Harman  (Clark  M.),  a  member  of  the  Texan  artillery 
corps. 

Stanza  2.  For  Santa  Anna,  Castrillon,  Almonte  and  Cos,  see 
"  The  Men  of  the  Alamo." 

Portilla  (J.  N.  de  la),  the  Mexican  colonel,  a  native  of  Yucatan,  in 
command  at  Goliad,  who  carried  out  Santa  Anna's  infamous  order,  and 
executed  Colonel  Fannin  and  his  men.  See  Fannin,  p.  205. 

Houston.     See  "  The  Men  of  the  Alamo." 

Stanza  4.  Deaf  Smith  (Erastus,  called  "  Deaf  "  from  his  infirmity, 
1787-1837),  a  New  Yorker  by  birth,  and  a  guide  and  spy  in  the  Texan 
army.  His  parents  early  emigrated  to  Mississippi,  and  he  visited  Texas 
in  1817,  but  did  not  settle  there  until  1821.  His  courage  and  coolness 
in  battle  were  remarkable,  and  his  familiarity  with  the  country  rendered 
his  services  of  the  greatest  value  to  the  Texan  cause. 

Karnes  (Henry  W.),  a  Tennesseean,  who  rose  to  the  rank  of  colonel 
in  the  Texan  service.  He  served  with  "Deaf  "  Smith  as  a  scout  on 
various  occasions,  and  was  a  captain  of  cavalry  at  San  Jacinto.  He  died 
at  San  Antonio  in  1840. 

Stanza  6.  For  Travis,  Bowie,  and  Crockett,  see  "  The  Men  of 
the  Alamo."  .  - 

Milatn  (Benjamin  R.),  one  of  the  most  distinguished  and  valorous  of 
the  Texan  patriots  who  was  killed  while  conducting  the  attack  on  San 
Antonio,  December  7,  1835.  (See  Cos.).  Milam  was  a  Kentuckian, 
and  was  one  of  the  first  citizens  of  the  United  States  to  visit  Texas.  He 
was  prominent  in  the  Mexican  War  for  Independence,  but  later  suffered 
inirch  at  the  bands  of  the  Mexicans.  The  subjoined  tribute  to  his 
memory  is  by  William  H.  Wharton. 

Oft  shall  the  soldier  think  of  thee, 

Thou  dauntless  leader  of  the  brave. 
Who  on  the  heights  of  Tyranny 

Won  Freedom  and  a  glorious  grave. 


NOTES — IN    TIM  P.    OI<    STRIFE  2O5 

And  o'er  thy  tomb  shall  pilgrims  weep, 
And  pray  to  heaven  in  murmurs  low 

That  peaceful  be  the  hero's  sleep 
Who  conquered  San  Antonio. 

Enshrined  on  Honor's  deathless  scroll, 
A  nation's  thanks  will  tell  thy  fame ; 

Long  as  her  beauteous  rivers  roll 

Shall  Freedom's  votaries  hymn  thy  name. 

For  bravest  of  the  Texan  clime, 

Who  fought  to  make  her  children  free, 

Was  Milam,  and  his  death  sublime 
Linked  with  undying  Liberty  ! 

Fannin  (James  W.,  1800-1835),  a  Texan  colonel,  born  in  North 
Carolina,  who,  with  nearly  four  hundred  men,  was  shot  down  in  cold 
blood  at  Goliad,  on  the  San  Antonio  River,  after  he  had  surrendered  at 
the  battle  of  Coleto  Creek. 

Millard  (Henry),  a  Texan  lieutenant-colonel. 

Lamar  (Mirabeau  B.),  the  third  president  of  the  Republic  of  Texas, 
a  Georgian  by  birth.  He  had  command  of  the  cavalry  at  San  Jacinto. 

15.  MONTEREY.     By  Charles  Fenno  Hoffman. 

Charles  Fenno  Hoffman,  one  of  our  most  versatile  and  voluminous 
writers  until  his  brain  became  affected  in  1849,  was  born  in  New 
York  City  in  1806.     He  died  in   Harrisburg,  Pennsylvania,  June 
7,  1884. 
Monterey  is  the  capital  of  the  Mexican  State  Nuevo  Leon.      The 

famous   battle   was  fought  on  September  21,  22,  and  23,  1846.     The 

place   was   defended   by   ten   thousand  men  under  General  Ampudia. 

The  American  force   is  estimated   to  have  been   about  six  thousand 

five  hundred. 

16.  THE  DEFENSE  OF  LAWRENCE.    By  Richard  Realf. 

Richard  Realf  was  born  in  Framfield,  Sussex,  England,  June  14, 
1834.  He  emigrated  to  America  in  1855,  and  was  connected  with 
John  Brown  and  his  men  in  Kansas  and  Iowa  during  the  two  years 
following.  He  served  with  the  SSth  Illinois  Volunteer  Infantry 
throughout  the  Civil  War,  and  then  became  a  newspaper  writer  and 
lecturer.  Unfortunate  domestic  relations  led  to  his  suicide  in  San 
Francisco,  October  28,  1878.  The  lyric  "  Indirection  "  is  usuallj 
regarded  as  Realf's  finest  poem. 


206  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

"  The  Defense  of  Lawrence  "  commemorates  "  the  resistance  made,  in 
September,  1856,  to  the  last  pro-slavery  attack  on  Lawrence,  Kansas, 
when  a  small  number  of  Free  State  men  successfully  held  the  place 
against  twenty-four  hundred  armed  Missourians,  and  drove  back  their 
advance  of  three  hundred  men." 

Stanza  6.     Gideon.     See  Judges,  chapters  6,  7,  and  8. 

Stanza  7.  The  river  referred  to  in  the  last  line  of  the  stanza  is  the 
Wakarusa. 

17.  BLOOD  is  THICKER  THAN  WATER.     By  Wallace  Rice. 

Wallace  Rice,  a  Chicago  critic  and  poet,  was  born  in  Hamilton, 
Ontario,  November  10,  1859,  of  American  parents  temporarily 
resident  there. 

"  The  treaty  obtained  from  China  by  the  English  in  1858  was  to  be 
returned,  by  its  terms,  to  the  Chinese  capital  for  final  ratification  by 
June  26,  1859.  The  British  forces  assembled  at  the  mouth  of  Pei-Ho 
River,  on  the  direct  road  to  Pekin,  for  that  purpose,  June  25,  1859. 
Their  heavier  vessels  were  kept  in  the  gulf  by  a  bar,  but  the  lighter 
gunboats  went  on  up  the  stream  until  their  progress  was  stopped  by  the 
obstructions  placed  at  the  fort.  The  U.  S.  S.  Powhatan,  Flag  Officer 
Tattnall,  bore  John  E.  Wade  and  his  suite,  who  were  to  represent  the 
United  States  at  similar  negotiations  then  pending.  The  size  of  the 
Powhatan  did  not  permit  her  entry  upon  the  river,  so  Tattnall  secured 
the  small  unarmed  merchant  steamer  Toey-  Wan  to  take  the  representa 
tive  of  our  government  to  Pekin.  The  rest  of  the  story  is  told  sub 
stantially  as  it  occurred,  the  British  loss  being  89  killed  and  345 
wounded,  out  of  1,100  engaged.  But  for  the  Toey-Wan  and  Tatt- 
nall's  interference — wholly  unwarranted  by  all  considerations  save 
those  which  he  himself  brought  forward — there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
England's  entire  force  would  have  been  killed  or  captured."  W.  R. 

Josiah  Tattnall,  the  hero  of  the  "Blood  is  Thicker  than  Water" 
episode,  was  the  son  of  a  Georgia  soldier  and  statesman,  and  was  born 
in  Bonaventure,  Georgia,  November  9,  1795.  He  entered  the  navy  at 
seventeen,  and  served  in  the  War  of  1812,  in  the  war  with  Algiers,  and 
in  the  Mexican  War.  Soon  after  the  outbreak  of  the  Rebellion  he 
offered  his  services  to  the  Confederates.  It  was  he  'who,  in  March, 
1862,  succeeded  Franklin  Buchanan  in  command  of  the  Merrimac,  and 
it  was  he  who  destroyed  that  noted  vessel  to  prevent  her  capture.  He 
died  in  Savannah,  Georgia,  June  14,  1871. 

Stephen  Decatur  Trenchard,  who  was  wounded  at  the  Pei-Ho  engage 
ment,  entered  the  navy  in  1834,  and.  served  until  1880,  when  he  was 


NOTES  — IN    TIME   OF  STRIFE  2O/ 

retired,  being  at  the  time  a  rear-admiral.  He  was  a  lieutenant  when  he 
fought  with  Tattnall. 

The  Gulf  of  Pechi-Li  is  a  land-locked  extension  of  the  Yellow  Sea 
between  the  base  of  the  Corean  peninsula  and  the  Chinese  province  of 
Shan-Tung. 

The  Pei-Ho  is  a  Chinese  river  that  rises  near  the  borders  of  Mon 
golia,  and  flows  northeast  and  southeast  past  Pekin  and  Tientsin  into 
the  Gulf  of  Pechi-Li. 

Stanza  3.  Hope  (Admiral  Sir  James,  1808-1881).  He  was  twice 
severely  wounded  in  the  Pei-llo  action,  but  remained  personally  in 
command  throughout  the  fight.  The  year  following,  he  led  an  expe 
dition  which  successfully  attacked  the  forts,  and  opened  the  river  for 
navigation. 

Stanza  4.  Rason  and  McKenna,  officers  in  Hope's  fleet,  the  one 
a  lieutenant-commander,  the  other  a  captain. 

18.  BKTHKL.     13y  Augustine  Joseph  Hickey  Duganne. 

Augustine  Joseph  Hickey  Duganne  was  born  in  Bostor,  Massachu 
setts,  in  1823.  He  was  a  colonel  of  New  York  volunteers  during 
the  Civil  War.  He  was  afterward  employed  upon  the  staff  of  the 
New  York  Tribune.  He  died  in  New  York  City,  October  20,  1884. 

The  battle  of  Big  Bethel,  near  Fortress  Monroe,  Virginia,  was  the 
first  action  of  the  Civil  War,  and  was  fought  June  IO,  1861.  The 
Union  forces  were  under  the  command  of  a  militia  brigadier  from  Mas- 
sachussetts,  General  E.  W.  Pierce,  to  whose  incapacity  and  inexperience 
the  Confederate  success  was  largely  due.  Winthrop  (Major  Theodore, 
the  author  of  "John  Brent"  and  "Cecil  Dreeme ")  led  an  assault 
upon  the  rebel  works,  and  was  shot  dead  while  standing  upon  a  lo^ 
cheering  his  men  to  the  charge.  Says  Horace  Greeley  of  him  in  "  The 
American  Conflict," — "  His  courage  and  conduct  throughout  the  fight 
rendered  him  conspicuous  to,  and  excited  the  admiration  of,  his 
1:1. 'inies."  The  Duryea  mentioned  in  the  poem  (Colonel  Abram)  w:-.  < 
in  command  ot  a  regiment  of  New  York  volunteers.  Later,  he  was 
made  a  brigadier-general,  participated  in  several  important  battles, 
and  at  the  close  of  the  war  was  breveted  major-general. 

19.  THE  CHARGE  UY  THE  FORD.     By  Thomas  Dunn  English. 
Thomas  Dunn  English.     See  note  on  "  Arnold  at  Stillwater." 

An  incidcui  ihut  occurred  in  ibCi.  in  the  Guulvy  River  region,  West 
Virginia. 


208  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

20.  THE  LITTLE.DRUMMER.     By  Richard  Henry  Stoddard. 
Richard  Henry  Sfoddard,  one  of  our  three  most  distinguished  living 
poets,  (see  note  on  "  Kearny  at  Seven  Pines,"  by  Edmund  Clarence 
Stedman)   was   born   in    Hingham,    Massachusetts,    July  2,   1825. 
Mr.  Stoddard's  long  devotion  to  literature  (although   he  was  for 
some  years  connected  with  the  New  York  custom-house  and  dock 
department)  is  too  well  known  to  call  for  extended  chronicle.     Not 
only  as  a  poet,  but  also  as  an  editor  and  critic,  has  he  won  a  high 
place  in  American  letters. 

Brigadier-General  Nathaniel  Lyon,  a  native  of  Connecticut  (1818),  a 
graduate  of  West  Point,  and  a  veteran  of  the  Seminole  and  Mexican 
wars,  was  killed  while  rallying  his  troops  at  the  battle  of  Wilson's 
Creek,  Missouri,  August  10,  iS6i. 

21.  THE  CUMBERLAND.     By  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 
Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow.     See  note  on  "  Paul  Revere." 

The  battle  of  Hampton  Roads,  Virginia,  during  which  the  Cumber 
land  was  sunk  by  the  Confederate  ram  Merrimac,  was  fought  March 
9,  1862.  Morris  (George  Upham,  1830-1875),  who  was  temporarily 
commanding  the  Cumberland,  entered  the  navy  early  in  life  as  a  mid 
shipman,  and  served  until  the  year  before  his  death.  He  took  part  in  a 
number  of  engagements  during  the  Rebellion,  and  was  wounded  at 
Fort  Darling.  Ar>  incident  of  the  Cumberland-AIerrimac  battle  is  de 
scribed  b'*  George  H.  Boker  (see  "  The  Black  Regiment  ")  in  a  poem 
entitled 

THE   SWORD-BEARER 

Brave  Morris  saw  the  day  was  lost : 

For  nothing  now  remained 
Of  the  wrecked  and  sinking  Ctttnberland 

But  to  save  the  flag  unstained. 

So  he  swore  an  oath  in  the  sight  of  heaven — 

(If  he  kept  it  tfie  world  can  tell  !) 
"  Before  I  strike  to  a  rebel  flag, 

I  '11  si",k  to  the  gates  of  hell ! 

"  Here,  take  my  sword  ;  't  is  in  my  way  ; 

I  shall  trip  o'er  the  useless  steel ; 
For  I  '11  meet  the  lot  that  falls  to  all, 

With  my  shoulder  at  the  wheel." 


NOTES — IN   TIME   OF  STRIFE  20Q 

So  the  little  negro  took  the  sword, 

And  oh,  with  what  reverent  care  ! 
Following  his  master  step  by  step, 

lie  bore  it  here  and  there. 

A  thought  had  crept  through  his  sluggish  brain, 

And  shone  in  his  dusky  face, 
That  somehow — he  could  not  tell  just  how— 

'T  was  the  sword  of  his  trampled  race. 

And  as  Morris,  great  with  his  lion  heart, 

Rushed  onward  from  gun  to  gun, 
The  little  negro  slid  after  him 

Like  a  shadow  in  the  sun. 

But  something  of  pomp  and  of  curious  pride 

The  sable  creature  wore, 
Which  at  any  time  but  a  time  like  that 

Would  have  made  the  ship's  crew  roar. 

Over  the  wounded,  dying,  and  dead, 

Like  an  usher  of  the  rod, 
The  black  page,  full  of  his  mighty  trust, 

With  dainty  caution  trod. 

No  heed  he  gave  to  the  flying  ball, 

No  heed  to  the  bursting  shell ; 
His  duty  was  something  more  than  life, 

And  he  strove  to  do  it  well. 

Down  with  our  starry  flag  apeak, 

In  the  whirling  sea  we  sank  ; 
And  captain  and  crew  and  the  sword-bearer 

Were  washed  from  the  bloody  plank. 

They  picked  us  up  from  the  hungry  waves- 
Alas,  not  all  !    And  where, 
Where  is  the  faithful  negro  lad  ? 
"  Back  oars  !  avast  !  look  there  !" 

We  looked,  and  as  heaven  may  save  my  soul, 

I  pledge  you  a  sailor's  word. 
There,  fathoms  deep  in  the  sea  he  lay, 

Still  grasping  his  master's  sword. 


210  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

We  drew  him  out ;  and  many  an  hour 

We  wrought  with  his  rigid  form 
Ere  the  almost  smothered  spark  of  life 

By  slow  degrees  grew  warm. 

The  first  dull  glance  that  his  eyeballs  rolled 

Was  down  toward  his  shrunken  hand ; 
And  he  smiled,  and  closed  his  eyes  again, 

As  they  fell  on  the  rescued  brand. 
And  no  one  touched  the  sacred  sword, 

Till  at  length,  when  Morris  came. 
The  little  negro  stretched  it  out 

With  his  eager  eyes  aflame. 

And  if  Morris  wrung  the  poor  boy's  hand, 

And  his  words  seemed  hard  to  speak, 
And  tears  ran  down  his  manly  cheeks, 

What  tongue  shall  call  him  weak  ? 

22.  JOHNSTON  AT  SHILOH.     By  Fleming  James. 

Albert  Sydney  Johnston,  who  commanded  the  Confederate  forces  at 
the  battle  of  Shiloh,  was  a  Kentuckian  by  birth  (1803),  and  was  one  of 
the  most  able  of  the  Southern  leaders.  He  had  had  a  wide  experience 
in  military  affairs,  being  a  West  Point  graduate,  and  having  served  in 
Mexico  and  upon  the  plains.  The  battle  of  Shiloh  was  fought  on  the 
6th  of  April,  1862. 

23.  THE  RIVER  FIGHT.     By  Henry  Howard  Brownell. 

Henry  Howard  Brownell,  called  "the  laureate  of  the  Civil  War," 
was  born  in  Providence,  Rhode  Island,  February  6,  1820.  His 
early  manhood  was  devoted  to  literary  work.  He  served  on 
the  Hartford  under  Farragut  during  a  part  of  the  Rebellion,  and 
at  the  close  of  the  war  accompanied  that  officer  upon  a  cruise  to 
various  European  ports.  He  died  in  Hartford,  Connecticut,  Octo 
ber  31,  1872.  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  has  paid  a  beautiful  tribute 
to  his  memory  in  a  sonnet  beginning  — 

"  They  never  crowned  him,  never  knew  his  worth, 
But  let  him  go  unlaureled  to  the  grave." 

The  conflict  commemorated  in  this  poem,  resulting  in  the  opening  of 
the  lower  Mississippi,  took  place  on  the  24th  of  April,  1862.  The  in 
troductory  portion  of  the  poem  is  omitted,  and  a  few  additional  stanzas 
that  retard,  rather  than  accelerate,  the  forward  movement. 


NOTES — IX    TIME   OF  STRIFE  21  T 

Stanza  I.     "  Up  the  River  of  Death 

Sailed  the  great  Admiral." 

David  Glasgow  Farragut,  generally  conceded  to  be  the  greatest 
American  seaman,  was  born  near  Knoxville,  Tennessee,  July  5,  1801. 
His  most  famous  victories  were  those  of  the  "River  Fight"  and  of 
Mobile  Bay,  which  Brownell  celebrated  in  a  poem  entitled  "  The  Bay 
Fight,"  perhaps  his  best-known  effort,  the  length  of  which  precludes  its 
use  in  this  volume.  (See  poem,  "  Farragut,"  by  William  T.  Meredith). 
He  died  in  Portsmouth,  New  Hampshire,  August  14,  1870. 

Stanza  4.  Porter  (David  Dixon,  1813-1891),  the  naval  officer  who 
succeeded  Farragut  as  vice-admiral  and  admiral.  He  had  command  of 
the  mortar  flotilla  in  the  "River  Fight." 

Last  Stanza.  The  church-pennant  is  made  of  white  bunting  in 
the  form  of  an  isosceles  triangle,  on  each  side  of  which  is  sewed  blue 
bunting  in  shape  of  a  cross  resting  horizontally  on  the  white.  This 
pennant  is  used  only  when  religious  service  is  being  held,  and  is  then 
hoisted  above  the  national  ensign. 

24.  KEARNY  AT  SEVEN  PINES.     By  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman. 

Edmund  Clarence  Stedman,  our  most  distinguished  critic,  and  one 
of  the  three  most  distinguished  of  our  living  poets  (the  others  being 
Richard  Henry  Stoddard  and  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich),  was  born  in 
Hartford,  Connecticut,  October  8,  1833.  He  entered  journalism 
after  leaving  college,  and  was  a  war  correspondent  during  the  early 
years  of  the  Civil  War.  Later  he  purchased  a  seat  in  the  New  York 
stock  exchange,  and  became  a  broker,  devoting  his  leisure  to  litera 
ture.  He  has  for  many  years  been  one  of  the  most  prominent  fig 
ures  in  literary  New  York. 

The  battle  of  Seven  Pines  was  fought  on  the  3ist  of  May,  1862. 

Philip  Kearny  was  born  in  New  York  City,  June  2,  1815.  Entering 
the  army  in  1837,  he  was  sent  to  Europe  two  years  later  to  observe  the 
tactics  of  the  French  cavalry.  Enlisting  in  the  French  service,  he  per 
formed  many  daring  exploits  in  Algiers.  He  was  in  the  Mexican  War, 
and  was  the  first  American  to  enter  the  city  of  Mexico.  He  won  the 
cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  in  the  Franco-Austrian  war  of  1859,  and 
his  service  to  the  Union  cause  in  the  Rebellion  before  his  death  was 
conspicuous.  General  Scott  once  referred  to  him  as  the  bravest  and 
most  perfect  soldier  he  ever  knew.  The  battle  of  Chantilly,  where 
General  Kearny  lost  his  life,  took  place  September  i,  1862.  The  gen 
eral  became  separated  from  his  men  in  the  dusk  and  driving  rain,  and 


212  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

rode  by  mistake  into  the  Confederate  line.  Encountering  some  skirm 
ishers,  he  perceived  his  blunder,  wheeled  his  horse,  and  endeavored  to 
escape,  but  a  volley  rang  out  and  he  fell.  It  was  in  Kearny's  memory 
that  George  H.  Boker  wrote  his  most  tender  lyric  : 

DIRGE  FOR   A  SOLDIER 

Close  his  eyes  ;  his  work  is  done ! 

What  to  him  is  friend  or  foeman, 
Rise  of  moon,  or  set  of  sun, 

Hand  of  man,  or  kiss  of  woman  ? 
Lay  him  low,  lay  him  low. 
In  the  clover  or  the  snow  ! 
What  cares  he  ?  he  cannot  know  : 
Lay  him  low ! 

As  man  may,  he  fought  his  fight, 

Proved  his  truth  by  his  endeavor  ; 
Let  him  sleep  in  solemn  night, 
Sleep  forever  and  forever. 
Lay  him  low,  lay  him  low 
In  the  clover  or  the  snow  ! 
What  cares  he  ?  he  cannot  know  : 
Lay  him  low  ! 

Fold  him  in  his  country's  stars, 

Roll  the  drum  and  fire  the  volley ; 
What  to  him  are  all  our  wars, 

What  but  Death  bemocking  Folly  ? 
Lay  him  low,  lay  him  low, 
In  the  clover  or  the  snow  ! 
What  cares  he?  he  cannot  know  : 
Lay  him  low  ! 

Leave  him  to  God's  watching  eye, 

Trust  him  to  the  hand  that  made  him. 
Mortal  love  weeps  idly  by  : 

God  alone  has  power  to  aid  him. 
Lay  him  low,  lay'him  low, 
In  the  clover  or  the  snow  ! 
What  cares  he  ?  he  cannot  know  : 
Lay  him  low  ! 


NOTES— IN    TIME   OF  STRIFE  2\$ 

Stanza  I.  Jameson  (Charles  Davis),  a  brigadier-general  of  volun 
teers  who  died  in  the  service. 

Berry  (Hiram  George),  a  major-general  of  volunteers,  killed  in  the 
battle  of  Chancellorsville.  See  "  Keenan's  Charge." 

Birney  (David  Bell),  a  major-general  of  volunteers,  who  succeeded 
General  Berry  after  the  fall  of  the  latter  at  Chancellorsville.  He  died 
in  the  service. 

25.  AN  UNKNOWN  HERO.     By  William  Gordon  McCabe. 

William  Gordon  McCabe  was  born  in  Richmond,  Virginia,  August 
4,  1841.  He  served  in  various  capacities  in  the  Confederate  army 
throughout  the  Civil  War,  since  the  close  of  which  he  has  been 
active  as  an  educator  and  as  a  writer  upon  educational  and  general 
topics. 

"  After  the  battle  of  Malvern  Hill,  Virginia  (July  I,  1862),  a  soldier 
was  found  dead  fifty  yards  in  advance  of  any  officer  or  man,  his  musket 
firmly  grasped  in  his  rigid  fingers,  —  name  unknown,  — simply  '  2  La.' 
(Second  Louisiana)  on  his  cap."  Malvern  Hill  lies  near  the  James  River, 
about  fifteen  miles  southeast  of  Richmond. 

26.  BARBARA  FRIETCHIE.     By  John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier,  "  the  Quaker  laureate  of  Puritan  New 
England,"  and  by  some  considered  the  most  distinctively  American 
poet,  was  born  in  Haverhill,  Massachusetts,  December  17,  1807. 
Whittier  was  prominent  among  the  anti-slavery  agitators,  and  dur 
ing  his  early  manhood  gave  much  of  his  time  and  strength  to  the 
interests  of  the  cause.  He  took  up  his  permanent  residence  at 
Amesbury,  Massachusetts,  in  1840,  and  lived  there,  and  at  "Oak 
Knoll,"  in  Danvers,  during  the  remainder  of  his  life.  "  Of  all  our 
poets,"  says  Mr.  Stedman,  "  he  is  the  most  natural  balladist."  He 
is  seen  at  his  best  in  such  ballads  as  "  Cassandra  Southwick," 
"  MaryGarvin,"  and  "  The  Wreck  of  Rivermouth,"  and  in  the  New 
England  pastoral,  "  Snowbound."  He  died  at  Hampton  Falls, 
New  Hampshire,  September  7,  1892. 

It  was  during  the  march  of  "  Stonewall  "  Jackson's  command  through 
Frederick  City,  Maryland,  just  before  the  battle  of  South  Mountain,  in 
September,  1862,  that  the  incidents  which  inspired  this  poem  are  said  to 
have  occurred.  Their  truth  having  been  questioned,  Mr.  Francis  F. 
Browne  appealed  to  Mr.  Whittier,  and  in  November,  1885,  received 
from  the  poet  the  subjoined  statement  :  —  "Of  the  substantial  truth  of 
the  heroism  of  Barbara  Frietchie  I  can  have  no  doubt.  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N, 


214  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Southworth,  the  novelist,  of  Washington,  sent  me  a  slip  from  a  news 
paper  stating  the  circumstance  as  it  is  given  in  the  poem,  and  assured 
me  of  its  substantial  correctness.  Dorothea  L.  Dix,  the  philanthropic 
worker  in  Union  hospitals,  confirmed  it.  From  half  a  dozen  other 
sources  I  had  the  account,  and  all  agree  in  the  main  facts.  Barbara 
Frietchie  was  the  boldest  and  most  outspoken  Unionist  in  Frederick, 
and  manifested  it  to  the  rebel  army  in  an  unmistakable  manner."  In 
spite  of  Mr.  Whittier's  belief  in  the  truth  of  the  incident,  its  authentic 
ity  has  been  seriously  questioned  in  later  years. 

"Stonewall"  Jackson  (Thomas  Jonathan),  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
generals  on  either  side  in  the  Civil  War,  was  born  in  Clarksburg,  West 
Virginia,  January  21,  1824.  He  graduated  at  West  Point,  and  was  twice 
breveted  in  the  war  with  Mexico.  At  the  beginning  of  the  Rebellion 
he  took  command  of  the  Confederate  troops  at  Harper's  Ferry.  He 
commanded  a  brigade  at  the  battle  of  Bull  Run,  where  he  gained  the  so 
briquet  "  Stonewall  "  on  account  of  the  firm  stand  he  made.  After  a 
series  of  brilliant  victories,  he  was  mortally  wounded  by  some  of  his  own 
men  when  returning  from  a  reconnaissance  after  the  battle  of  Chancel- 
lorsville.  He  died  on  the  roth  of  May,  1863. 

Line  IO.  Lee,  Robert  Edward,  the  Commander-in-chief  of  the 
Confederate  forces  during  the  Civil  War,  was  born  at  Stratford  House 
in  Virginia,  the  home  of  the  Lees,  on  January  19,  1807.  Like  Jackson 
he  was  a  West  Point  graduate,  and  like  him  served  with  distinguished 
bravery  in  the  war  with  Mexico.  At  the  close  of  the  Rebellion,  he  was 
chosen  president  of  Washington  College,  at  Lexington,  Virginia.  His 
death  occurred  on  October  12,  1870. 

27.  THE  EAGI.K  OK  CORINTH.     By  Henry  Howard  Brownell. 

Henry  Howard  Brownell.     See  note  on  "The  River  Fight." 

The  battle  of  Corinth  was  fought  October  3d  and  4th,  1862.  The 
famous  war-eagle  of  the  poem  was  taken  from  a  nest  in  Chippeway 
County,  Wisconsin,  by  a  Chippeway  Indian,  in  July,  1861,  and  given 
by  him  to  a  farmer  living  near.  A  citizen  of  Eau  Claire  purchased  the 
bird,  and  presented  him  to  Company  C,  of  the  Eighth  Wisconsin,  with 
which  he  remained  until  the  regiment  was  mustered  out  of  active 
service.  He  was  present  at  all  of  the  battles  in  which  the  troops  were 
engaged,  and  would  fly  over  the  enemy  during  the  hottest  of  the  fight, 
returning  after  a  time  to  his  perch  upon  a  pole  borne  by  one  especially 
appointed  for  that  duty.  Whenever  there  was  any  cheering  his  wings 
were  instantly  outspread.  At  the  battle  of  Corinth,  the  rebel  general 
Price  gave  orders  to  capture  or  kill  the  eagle,  saying  that  he  was  worth 


—ltf  TIME  OF  STRIFE  21$ 

more  than  the  whole  brigade.  The  name  by  which  the  bird  was 
universally  known,  "Old  Abe,"  was  given  him  by  Captain  Wolf,  of 
Company  C,  of  the  Eighth  Wisconsin. 

Stanza  I.  Price  (Stirling,  1809-1867),  a  Virginian  who  served  the 
Confederate  cause  in  the  West  and  Southwest  throughout  the  Civil  War. 

Van  Dorn  (Earl,  1820-1863),  a  Mississippian  who  rose  to  the  rank 
of  major-general  in  the  Confederate  service.  He  was  shot  and  killed 
by  a  physician  named  Peters  on  account  of  some  private  grievance. 

Stanza  5.  Robinett,  a  fort  erected  by  the  Federal  forces  at 
Corinth. 

28.  READY.     By  Phoebe  Gary. 

Phoebe  Gary,  the  younger  of  the  Gary  sisters,  was  born  near  Cin 
cinnati,  Ohio,  September  4,  1824,  and  died  in  Newport,  Rhode 
Island,  July  31,  1873.  Her  best-known  lyric  is  entitled  "  Nearer 
Home." 

The  incident  described  in  this  poem  probably  occurred  some  time  dur 
ing  the  first  week  in  April,  1863,  when  there  were  several  actions  at 
Rodman's  Point.  This  point  is  a  strip  of  land  projecting  into  the 
Pimlico  River  about  a  mile  and  a  half  below  Washington,  North 
Carolina. 

29.  THE  BATTLE  OF  CHARLESTON  HARBOR.    By  Paul  Hamilton  Hayne. 
Paul  Hamilton  Hayne,  a  nephew  of  the  noted  Senator  Hayne,  of 
South  Carolina,  was  born  in  Charleston,   January  i,  1830.     Most 
of  his  life  was  devoted  to  literature,  his  best  work   being   lyrics 
descriptive  of  Southern  scenery.     He  died  at  Copse  Hill,  Georgia, 
July  6,  1886. 

The  attack  by  the  Union  fleet  upon  the  defenses  of  Charleston  harbor 
occurred  April  7,  1863. 

The  fort  referred  to  in  the  fifth  stanza  is  Moultrie. 

30.  KEENAN'S  CHARGE.     By  George  Parscns  Lathrop. 

George  Parsons  Lathrop,  perhaps  best  known  as  a  novelist,  was 
born  in  Honolulu,  Sandwich  Islands,  August  25,  1851,  and  died  in 
New  York  City,  April  19,  1898. 

During  the  second  day  of  the  battle  of  Chancellorsville,  May  2,  1863, 
General  Pleasanton  was  endeavoring  to  get  twenty-two  guns  into  a 
vital  position  as  "  Stonewall  "  Jackson  made  a  sudden  advance.  Every 
instant's  delay  was  precious,  at  whatever  cost  it  was  purchased,  so 


2l6  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Pleasanton  ordered  Major  Keenan,  commanding  the  Eighth  Pennsyl. 
vania  Cavalry  (four  hundred  strong),  to  charge  the  advancing  ten  thous 
and  of  the  enemy. 

General  Alfred  Pleasanton  was  born  in  Washington,  D.  C.,  June  7, 
1824.  He  was  a  West  Point  graduate,  and  served  in  the  Mexican  War 
and  in  several  Indian  wars.  He  was  the  commander  of  the  Union 
cavalry  at  the  battle  of  Gettysburg. 

Major  Peter  Keenan  was  born  in  York,  New  York,  November  9, 
1834.  He  was  a  resident  of  Philadelphia  when  the  Civil  War  broke 
out,  and  assisted  in  recruiting  the  Eighth  Pennsylvania  Cavalry,  in 
which  he  was  made  a  captain.  Having  attained  the  rank  of  major,  he 
was  in  command  of  his  regiment  at  the  battle  of  Chancellorsville,  as 
above  stated. 

Stanza  I.     "'  Stonewall's'  Corps."     See  "  Barbara  Frietchie." 

31.  THE  HERO  OF  THE  GUN.     By  Margaret  Junkin  Preston. 
Margaret  Junkin  Preston,  a  poet  and  prose  writer  who,  though  a 
native  of  the  North  (born  in  Philadelphia,  in  1825),  has  always 
been   identified   with   the   South.     She  wrote  many   fine   ballads. 
She  died  in  Baltimore,  Maryland,  March  28,  1897. 

An  incident  of  the  Civil  War  which,  though  probably  true,  the  son 
of  the  author  is  not  able  to  identify. 

32.  AN  INCIDENT  OF  WAR.     By  Maurice  Thompson. 

Maurice  Thompson,  poet,  novelist,  and  journalist  (brother  of  Will 
Henry  Thompson, — see  "High  Tide  at  Gettysburg"  and  "The 
Bond  of  Blood "),  was  born  in  Fairfield,  Indiana,  September  9, 
1844.  His  boyhood  was  passed  in  Kentucky  and  Georgia,  and  he 
served  in  the  Confederate  army  throughout  the  Civil  War,  later 
engaging  in  the  practice  of  law  at  Crawfordsville,  Indiana,  his 
present  home.  He  was  at  one  time  the  state  geologist  of  Indiana. 
Mr.  Thompson  is  a  nature-intimate,  and  his  lyrics  of  "  wild  life  " 
have  a  rare  freshness  and  charm. 

Of  "An  Incident  of  War"  the  author  says  :  "  The  poem  has  no  exact 
model  of  fact ;  I  got  it  out  of  my  composite  impression  of  war  as  I 
experienced  it." 

33.  THE  BLACK  REGIMENT.     By  George  Henry  Boker. 

George  Henry  Boker,  poet  and  diplomat,  and  perhaps  best  known 
as  the  author  of  the  play,  "  Francesca  da  Rimini,"  was  born  in 
Philadelphia,  Pennsylvania,  October  6,  1823.  He  was  successively 


NOTES — IN  TIME  OF  STRIFE  21? 

» 

United  States  Minister  to  Russia  and  Turkey.  He  died  in  Phila 
delphia,  January  2,  1890. 

"  The  Black  Regiment"  commemorates  the  charge  of  the  First  and 
Third  Louisiana  Native  Guards  at  Port  Hudson,  May  27,  1863.  Of 
the  bearing  of  the  negro  soldiers  in  that  action  General  Banks  spoke  in 
the  highest  terms  in  reporting  to  General  Halleck.  "  Their  conduct," 
he  wrote,  "  was  heroic.  No  troops  could  be  more  determined  or  more 
daring.  They  made,  during  the  day,  three  charges  upon  the  batteries 
of  the  enemy,  suffering  very  heavy  losses,  and  holding  their  position  at 
nightfall  with  the  other  troops  on  the  right  of  our  line.  The  highest 
commendation  is  bestowed  upon  them  by  all  the  officers  in  command  on 
the  right." 

In  her  "  Camp-Fire  and  Memorial  Poems,"  Mrs.  Kate  Brownlee 
Sherwood  (see  note  on  "  Thomas  at  Chickamauga  ")  has  paid  an  elo 
quent  tribute  to  the  valor  of  the  "  Black  Regiment." 

34.  GREENCASTLE  JENNY.     By  Helen  Gray  Cone. 

Helen  Gray  Cone,  one  of  the  most  gifted  of  our  women  poets  of  to 
day,  was  born  in  New  York  City,  March  8,  1859.  She  is  a  member 
of  the  faculty  of  the  Normal  College  of  New  York  City. 

The  story  of  "  Greencastle  Jenny"  was  told  by  Colonel  William  R. 
Aylett,  who  succeeded  General  Annistead  (see  "  High  Tide  at  Gettys 
burg  ")  as  commander  of  his  brigade,  at  a  reunion  of  the  Blue  and  Grey 
at  Gettysburg,  in  1887.  Miss  Cone  believes  that  the  girl's  name  is  not 
known. 

Greencastle  is  a  small  town  in  Franklin  county,  Pennsylvania,  not  far 
from  the  Maryland  line. 

Stanza  I.  Longstreet  (James,  1821-),  a  prominent  Confederate 
general,  by  some  considered  the  hardest  fighter  in  the  rebel  service.  He 
served  in  Mexico,  and  was  active  all  through  the  Rebellion.  At  Gettys 
burg  it  is  said  he  endeavored  to  dissuade  Lee  from  ordering  Pickett's 
famous  charge. 

Stanza  3.  Pickett  (George  Edward,  1825-1875),  one  of  the  most 
gallant  Confederate  generals.  His  charge  at  Gettysburg  is  historic,  and 
was  "  the  most  brilliant  feat  of  arms  performed  by  the  Confederates  on 
any  field." 

35.  JOHN  BURNS  OF  GETTYSBURG.     By  (Francis)  Bret  Harte. 
(Francis)  Bret  Harte  was  born  in  Albany,  New  York,  August  25, 
1839.     The  years  of  his  early  manhood  were  passed  in  California. 
It  was  in  San  Francisco,  while  he  was  the  editor  of  the  Overland 


21  8  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Monthly  that  the  publication  of  "The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp* 
and  "  The  Heathen  Chinee"  established  his  reputation.  He  has 
been  United  States  Consul  at  Crefeld,  Germany,  and  at  Glasgow, 
Scotland.  He  resigned  the  latter  post  in  1885,  since  when  he  has 
resided  in  and  near  London. 

The  following  statement,  made  by  a  Union  officer  who  served  in  the 
Eleventh  Corps  at  the  battle  of  Gettysburg,  is  taken  from  Mr.  Francis 
F.  Browne's  "  Bugle  Echoes"  :  —  "  During  the  first  day's  fight  an  old 
man,  in  a  swallow-tailed  coat  and  battered  cylinder  hat,  came  stalking 
across  the  fields  from  the  town,  and  made  his  appearance  at  Colonel 
Stone's  position.  With  a  musket  in  his  hand,  and  ammunition  in  his 
pocket,  this  venerable  citizen  asked  Colonel  Wister's  permission  to  fight. 
Wister  directed  him  to  go  over  to  the  Iron  Brigade,  where  he  would  be 
sheltered  by  the  woods  ;  but  the  old  man  insisted  on  going  forward  to 
the  skirmish  line.  He  was  allowed  to  do  so,  and  continued  firing  until 
the  skirmishers  retired,  when  he  was  the  last  man  to  leave.  He  after 
ward  fought  with  the  Iron  Brigade,  where  he  was  three  times  wounded. 
This  patriotic  and  heroic  citizen  was  Constable  John  Burns,  of  Getty- 
burg." 

The  battle  of  Gettysburg  was  fought  July  I,  2,  and  3,  1863. 

Line  n.     Lee.     See  "  Barbara  Frietchie." 

1.  14.  Meade  (George  Gordon,  1815-1872),  the  commander  of  the 
Union  army  at  Gettysburg.  He  served  in  the  Mexican  and  Seminole 
Wars,  and  distinguished  himself  at  Antietam  and  Fredericksburg.  He 
was  at  the  head  of  various  military  departments  after  the  war. 

1.  IOO.     Navarre.     See  Macaulay's  ballad,  "Ivry." 

36.   HIGH  TIDE  AT  GETTYSBURG.     By  Will  Henry  Thompson. 

Will  Henry  Thompson  (brother  of  Maurice  Thompson  ;  see  "  An 
Incident  of  War,"  and  "  The  Ballad  of  a  Little  Fun"),  a  lawyer 
and  poet  residing  in  Seattle,  Washington,  was  born  in  Calhoun 
county,  Georgia,  March  10,  1848.  Mr.  Thompson  was  a  Confed 
erate  soldier,  and  his  "High  Tide  at  Gettysburg"  is  one  of  the 
finest  poems  inspired  by  the  Civil  WTar. 

"  High  Tide  at  Gettysburg,"  the  day  of  Pickett's  charge,  was  the  last 
day  of  that  memorable  battle,  July  3,  1863. 

Stanza  2.     Lee.     See  "  Barbara  Frietchie." 

Pickett.     See  "  Greencastle  Jenny." 

Stanza  3.     Shiloh.     See  "  Johnston  at  Shiloh." 

Chickamauga.     See  "  Thomas  at  Chickamauga." 


NOTES — IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  2ig 

Stanza  4.  Pettigrew,  (James  Johnson)  a  Confederate  brigadier- 
general  who  was  mortally  wounded  in  Pickett's  charge.  He  was  a  na 
tive  of  North  Carolina  (1828-1863). 

Waterloo.     June  18,  1815. 

Stanza  5.  Kemper  (James  Lamson,  1823-),  a  Confederate  briga 
dier-general,  severely  wounded  and  captured  at  Gettysburg.  He  has 
been  governor  of  Virginia. 

Garnett  (Richard  Brooke,  i8i9--i863),  a  Confederate  brigadier-gen- 
rral  who  fell  at  Gettysburg. 

Armistead  (Lewis  Addison,  1817-1863),  a  Confederate  brigadier-gen 
eral  in  Pickett's  division,  who  was  mortally  wounded  in  the  famous 
charge. 

Stanza  7.  Doubleday  (Abner,  1819-1893),  a  Federal  major-gen 
eral  of  volunteers,  whose  division  was  active  in  repulsing  Pickett's 
charge.  It  was  he  who  fired  the  first  gun  in  defense  of  Fort  Sumter. 

For  another  rendering  of  this  battle  in  verse  see  Edmund  Clarence 
Stedman's  "  Gettysburg  "  (Complete  Poems.). 

37.   THOMAS  AT  CHICKAMAUGA.     By  Kate  Brownlee  Sherwood. 

Kate  Brownlee  Sherwood,  a  poet  and  journalist  of  Toledo,  Ohio, 
who  has  written  a  number  of  successful  war  lyrics  and  memorial 
poems,  was  born  in  Bedford  Springs,  Pennsylvania,  September  14, 
1841. 

The  battle  of  Chickamauga  (Tennessee)  was  fought  on  the  igth  and  2oth 
of  September,  1863.  General  George  Henry  Thomas,  "the  rock  of 
Chickamauga,"  who  saved  the  day  for  the  Federal  forces,  and  made  the 
Confederate  victory  a  barren  one,  was  a  Virginian  by  birth  (1816).  He 
served  in  Florida  and  Mexico.  It  was  he  who  was  in  command  at  Mis 
sion  Ridge,  and  who  overthrew  the  last  Confederate  army  in  the  south 
west.  He  was  also  in  the  Atlanta  campaign.  It  has  been  said  of  him 
that  he  was  the  beau-ideal  of  a  soldier  and  a  gentleman.  Among  Fed 
eral  generals  he  ranks  after  Grant,  Sherman,  and  Sheridan.  He  was 
in  command  of  the  military  division  of  the  Pacific  when  he  died  at  San 
Francisco,  March  28,  1870.  The  sobriquet  "Pap"  was  spontaneously 
given  Thomas  by  the  soldiers  of  his  command  on  account  of  the  fatherly 
interest  he  took  in  them. 

1.  5.  Hooker  (Joseph,  1814-1879),  a  distinguished  Union  general, 
who  was  nicknamed  "  Fighting  Joe  "  by  the  soldiers  for  his  courage  un 
der  fire.  He  participated  in  some  of  the  most  important  battles  of  the 
KcU-llion,  and  was  at  one  time  in  command  of  the  Army  yf  tho 
Potomac. 


22O  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

1.  33.  Bragg  (Braxton,  1817-1876),  a  well-known  rebel  general  who 
was  in  command  of  the  Confederate  forces  at  Murfreesboro,  Chicka- 
mauga,  and  Chattanooga. 

1.  42.  Steedman  (James  Barrett,  1818-1883),  a  Pennsylvania!!  who 
was  public  printer  at  Washington  during  Buchanan's  administration. 
He  was  in  command  of  the  first  division  of  the  reserve  corps  of  the 
Army  of  the  Cumberland  at  Chickamauga,  and  reenforced  Thomas  at 
the  most  critical  moment  in  the  battle. 

38.  THE  SMALLEST  OF  THE  DRUMS.     By  James  Buckham. 

James  Buckham,  a  well-known  contributor  to  the  periodicals  of  the 
day,  was  born  in  Burlington,  Vermont,  November  25,  1858. 

The  author  states  -that  this  poem  was  suggested  by  a  newspaper  para 
graph. 

Stanza  3.  Sherman  (William  Tecumseh),  the  eighteenth  general- 
in-chief  of  the  United  States  army,  famous  for  his  "  march  to  the  sea," 
was  born  in  Lancaster,  Ohio,  February  8,  1820.  He  was  Grant's  most 
efficient  assistant  at  Shiloh,  Vicksburg,  and  Chattanooga.  He  visited 
Europe  in  1872,  and  was  everywhere  received  with  distinguished  honor. 
In  1874  he  retired  from  the  command  of  the  army  to  make  room  for 
Sheridan.  He  died  in  New  York  City,  February  14,  1891.  See  "  Sher 
man,  an  Horatian  Ode,"  by  Louise  Imogen  Guiney  ("A  Roadside 
Harp"),  and  "General  Sherman,"  by  H.  C.  Bunner  (Complete  Poems). 

Stanza  4.     Chickamauga.     See  "  Thomas  at  Chickamauga." 

39.  LITTLE  GIFFEN.     By  Francis  Orrery  Ticknor. 

Francis  Orrery  Ticknor,  a  physician,  and  the  author  of  several 
lyrics  of  the  Civil  War  very  popular  in  the  South,  was  a  native  of 
Georgia,  and  died  near  Columbus,  in  that  State,  in  1874.  A  pos 
thumous  volume  of  his  poems  was  issued  in  1879,  with  an  introduc 
tion  by  Paul  H.  Hayne. 

The  hero  of  this  poem  was  Isaac  Giffen,  a  native  of  the  mountainous 
region  of  East  Tennessee.  He  had  been  terribly  wounded  at  Murfrees 
boro,  and  was  taken  by  Dr.  Ticknor  and  his  wife  into  their  own  home. 
He  fell  in  one  of  the  battles  before  Atlanta. 

Stanza  5.  "Johnson  pressed  at  the  front,  they  say."  Probably 
General  Joseph  Eggleston  Johnston,  is  meant. 

-«o.   ULRIC  DAHLGREN.     By  Kate  Brownlee  Sherwood. 

Kate  Brownlee  Sherwood.  See  note  on  "Thomas  at  Chicka 
mauga." 


NOTES — 7Ar  TIME   OF  STRIFE  221 

Colonel  Ulric  Dahlgren,  the  son  of  Admiral  Dahlgren,  distinguished 
himself  while  serving  upon  the  staffs  of  General  Hooker,  General 
Sigel,  and  General  Meade,  lost  a  leg  at  Gettysburg,  and  while  on  crutches 
led  an  expedition  to  free  the  Union  prisoners  in  Libby  prison  at  Rich 
mond,  during  which  he  was  ambushed  and  slain,  on  the  night  of  March 
2,  1864.  He  was  twenty-two  years  of  age. 

41.  FARRAGUT.     By  William  Tuckey  Meredith. 

William  Tuckey  Meredith  was  born  in  Philadelphia,  Pennsylvania, 
June  16,  1839.  He  served  with  Farragut  at  the  battle  of  Mobile 
Bay,  and  was  afterward  the  admiral's  secretary.  He  subsequently 
became  a  banker  in  New  York  City. 

The  battle  of  Mobile  Bay  was  fought  August  5,  1864.  See  "  Craven," 
below. 

Farragut.     See  note  on  "  The  River  Fight." 
Stanza  2.     Morgan,  a  Confederate  fort. 

42.  LEE  TO  THE  REAR.     By  John  Randolph  Thompson. 

John  Randolph  Thompson,  journalist  and  poet,  was  born  in  Rich 
mond,  Virginia,  October  23,  1823.  He  abandoned  the  law  to 
devote  himself  to  literature,  and  for  a  dozen  years  successfully 
edited  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger.  After  the  Civil  War  he 
was  for  a  time  literary  editor  of  the  New  York  Evening  Post.  He 
died  in  New  York  City,  April  30,  1873. 

The  incident  described  in  the  poem  is  authentic.  For  LEE,  See 
'•  Barbara  Frietchie." 

Stanza  i.  THE  WILDERNESS  is  a  region  a  few  miles  south  of  the 
Rapidan  river,  in  Virginia,  memorable  for  the  dreadful  ba*tle  fought 
there  between  the  Federal  army  under  Grant  and  the  Confederate  forces 
under  Lee  on  the  5th  and  6th  of  May.  1864. 

Mendelssohn,  the  famous  German   composer,    1809-1847. 

Stanza  4.  Grant  (Ulysses  Simpson,  1822-1885),  the  eighteenth 
president  of  the  United  States,  and  the  most  distinguished  Federal  gen 
eral  in  the  War  of  the  Rebellion.  Grant's  most  celebrated  battles  were 
Fort  Donelsou,  Shiloh,  Vicksburg,  Chattanooga,  and  the  conflicts  in  the 
Wilderness  and  before  Richmond,  which  culminated  in  the  surrender 
of  Lee.  See  "Grant,"  by  H.  C.  Banner.  ([Complete-  Poems) ;  "On 
the  Death  of  an  Invincible  Soldier/"  by  E.-C.  Stedman  ("Poems  Now 
First  Collected")  ;  and  "  Great  Captain,  Glorious  in  O'ir  Wars,"  by 
Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  (Complete  Poems). 


222  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

43.  CRAVEN.     By  Henry  Newbolt. 

Henry  Newbolt,  an  English  lawyer  and  poet,  was  born  in  Bilston, 
England,  June  6,  1862.  His  best  work  is  to  be  found  in  the  vol 
ume  entitled  "  Admirals  All." 

Craven  (Tunis  Augustus  Macdonough),  the  "  Sidney  of  the  American 
navy,"  was  born  in  Portsmouth,  New  Hampshire,  in  January,  1813. 
He  entered  the  navy  at  sixteen,  and  was  a  commander  at  the  opening 
of  the  Civil  War.  As  captain  of  the  monitor  Tecztmseh,  which  had 
been  given  the  post  of  honor,  and  was  leading  the  fleet,  he  met  his  death 
in  Mobile  Bay,  August  5,  1864, 

Stanza  8.  Sidney  (Sir  Philip,  poet,  soldier,  and  statesman.  1554- 
1586.)  The  reference  is  to  the  well-known  story  of  Sidney's  refusing  a 
cup  of  water,  when  lying  mortally  wounded  on  the  battle-field  of  Zut- 
phen,  in  order  to  give  it  to  a  wounded  soldier. 

Nelson.  See  "  Fight  of  the  Armstrong  Privateer."  The  reference 
here  is  to  the  battle  of  the  Nile,  where  Nelson  was  severely  wounded. 

Lucas,  a  young  English  captain,  who  was  captured  and  imprisoned 
by  an  Indian  despot  (Hyder  Ali,)  during  the  campaign  of  1780.  To 
relieve  Captain  Baird,  a  severely  wounded  comrade,  he  assumed  two 
sets  of  chains,  so  that  the  wounded  man  might  be  left  free. 

Outram.  (Sir  James,  1803-1863.)  The  reference  is  to  his  action 
at  Cawnpore,  in  1857,  when,  though  superior  in  command,  in  ad 
miration  for  the  brilliant  deeds  of  General  Havelock,  he  conceded 
to  that  soldier  the  glory  of  relieving  Lucknow,  waiving  his  own  rank, 
and  tendering  his  services  as  a  volunteer.  • 

44.  GRACX.   OF  ALABAMA.     By  Francis  Orrery  Ticknor. 
Francis  Orrery  Ticknor.     See  "  Little  Giffen." 

Petersburg,  the  scene  of  this  incident,  a  city  which  witnessed  some 
of  the  fiercest  fighting  of  the  Civil  War,  is  situated  upon  the  southern 
bank  of  the  Appomattox  River,  about  twenty  miles  south  of  Richmond. 

The  Gracie  of  the  poem  (Archibald,)  was  a  Confederate  brigadier- 
general  who  served  with  distinction  at  Krioxville  and  Chickamauga. 

Stanza  3.     LEE.     See  ''Barbara  Frietchie." 

45!  THE  BAU-AP  OF  A  LITTLE  FUN.    By  Jtfaurice  THompsbrf.      "".', 
Maurice  Thompson.     See  note  on"  An  Incident  of  War." 

Stanza  5.     Salliquoy.     A  tributary  of  the  Coosawattee.    (See  below.) 
Stanza  0.     Coosawattee,     A  stream  that  rises  in  Gilmer  county, 


NOTES — AV  TIME  OF  STRIFE  22$ 

northern    Georgia,  and    flows   southwesterly  through   Gordon  county, 
where  it  unites  with  the  Canasauga  to  form  the  Oostanaula. 

This  poem  relates  an  adventure  that  befell  a  Confederate  scouting 
party  near  Hogan's  Ford,  on  the  Coosawattee,  while  out  upon  a  recon- 
noitering  expedition  late  in  1864,  or  early  in  1865. 

46.  SHERIDAN'S  RIDE.     By  Thomas  Buchanan  Read. 

Thomas  Buchanan  Read,  poet  and  artist,  was  born  in  Chester 
county,  Pennsylvania,  March  12,  1822.  After  a  roving  youth,  he 
settled  in  Philadelphia,  in  which  town  and  various  Italian  cities 
most  of  his  life  was  spent.  He  died  in  New  York  City,  May  n, 
1872.  The  lyrics  "Drifting"  and  ""The  Closing  Scene "  show 
Read  at  his  best  as  a  poet. 

Sheridan  (Philip,  generally  known  to  army  men  as  "  Little  Phil," 
1831-1888),  was  the  most  distinguished  Federal  cavalry  leader  in  the 
Civil  War.  Serving  in  the  early  part  of  the  war  with  the  Army  of  the 
Cumberland,  during  the  latter  portion  of  the  conflict  he  was  with 
the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  and  rendered  Grant  important  aid  in  crushing 
Lee.  His  own  version  of  his  famous  ride  (October  19,  1864,)  may  be 
read  in  his  memoirs.  It  has  been  said  of  Sheridan  that  he  was  never 
defeated,  but  often  plucked  victory  from  the  jaws  of  defeat. 

Line  2.  Winchester.  The  capital  of  Frederick  county,  Vir 
ginia,  and  the  key  to  the  Shenandoah  valley. 

47.  DOWN  THE  LITTLE  BIG  HORN.     By  Francis  Brooks. 

Francis  Brooks,  a  Chicago  poet,  who  was  born  in  Memphis,  Ten 
nessee,  March  7,  1867,  and  died  near  Geneva,  Wisconsin,  April  12, 
1898.  A  memorial  edition  of  his  poems,  edited  by  Wallace  Rice, 
was  issued  in  the  autumn  of  1898. 

Custer  (George  Armstrong)  was  born  in  New  Rumley,  Ohio,  Decem 
ber  5,  1839.  He  entered  the  army  directly  after  his  graduation  from 
West  Point  in  June,  1861.  and  participated  in  all  but  one  of  the  battles 
of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  attaining  the  rank  of  major-general  at 
t\venty*6ve.  He  had  eleven  horses  shot  under  him  in  battle.  After 
the  Civil  War  he  served  in  several  Indian  campaigns.  His  last  fight, 
on  the  banks,  fcf  the  Little  Big  Horn  river  in  Montana,  took  place  June 
26,  1876.  See  "Custer;"  by  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman  (Complete 
Poems). 

Stanza  2.  Sitting  Bull,  who  commanded  the  Indians  in  the  Custer 
fight,  was  a  Sioux  chief,  born  about  1837.  He  was  killed  while  resist 
ing  arrest  in  the  Sioux  outbreak  of  December,  1890, 


224  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Stanza  3.  Rain-in-the-Face,  a  Sioux  chief,  who  had  been  impris 
oned  for  murdering  a  sutler  and  veterinary  surgeon,  but  had  sub 
sequently  escaped.  See  Longfellow's  poem,  "  The  Revenge  of 
Rain-in-the-Face." 

Stanza  7.  Comaache.  See  "  Miles  Keogh's  Horse,"  by  John 
Hay  (Poems). 

48.  THE  BOND  OF  BLOOD.     By  Will  Henry  Thompson. 

Will   Henry   Thompson.       See   note   on    "High  Tide  at  Gettys 
burg." 

Stanza  3.     Lee.     See  "  Barbara  Frietchie." 

Stanza  6.  Hancock  (Winfield  Scott,  1824-1886),  a  distinguished 
Union  general,  and  the  Democratic  candidate  for  President  in  1880. 
He  was  conspicuous  for  his  gallantry  at  Gettysburg,  where  he  was 
wounded.  The  reference  in  this  stanza  is  probably  to  the  battle  of 
Spottsylvania,  where  he  captured  and  held  a  salient  of  field-works  on 
the  Confederate  center,  afterward  known  as  "  the  bloody  angle." 

Stanza  9.  Hill,  either  A.  P.  or  D.  H.,  both  noted  Confederate 
generals. 

Gordon  (George  Washington),  a  brilliant  Confederate  leader,  well 
known  after  the  war  as  a  lawyer  and  public  speaker. 

Stanza  12.     Sherman.     See  "  The  Smallest  of  the  Drums." 

Stanza  16.     Wilderness.     See  "  Lee  to  the  Rear." 

49.  A  BALLAD  OF  MANILA  BAY.     By  Charles  George  Douglas  Roberts. 
Charles  George  Douglas  Roberts,  poet  and  novelist,  was  born  near 
Frederickton,  New  Brunswick,  January  10,  1860.     He  was  at  one 
time  Professor  of  English  Literature  in  King's  College,  Windsor, 
Nova  Scotia.     Of  recent  years  he  has  resided  in  the  United  States 
and  devoted  himself  entirely  to  writing.     He  is  commonly  spoken 
of  as  the  leader  of  the  Canadian  School  of  poets. 

George  Dewey,  who  by  his  victory  over  the  Spanish  in  Manila  Bay 
has  come  to  be  looked  upon  as  the  greatest  naval  commander  of  modern 
times,  was  born  in  Montpelier,  Vermont,  December  26,  1837.  He  was 
with  Farragut  at  the  opening  of  the  Mississippi  (see  "  The;  River 
Fight  "),  and  took  part  in  the  severe  engagements  at  Fort  Fisher.  Jie 
became  .a  commodore  in  1896,  and  in  recognition  of  his  Manila-victory 
(May  i,  1898),  and  his  subsequent  services,  he  was  promoted,  firs.t.to  the 
rank  of  rear-admiral,  and'later  to  that  of  admiral. 

Stanza  I.     Corregidor,  an  island  at  the  entrance  to  Manila  Bay. 

Stanza  4.    El  FrajJe  (the  Friar),  an  outcrop  of  rock,  tunnelled  to 


NOTES — IN  TIME   OF  STRIFE  22 5 

serve  as  .1  battery,  lying  in  the  main  channel  almost  due  south  of  the 
westerly  tip  of  Corregidor. 

Stanza  7.  Kalibuyo  and  Salinas,  towns  in  the  province  of  Cavite, 
ou  the  southern  shore  of  Manila  Bay. 

Stanza  8.  Cavite",  a  former  Spanish  fortress  and  naval  station 
situated  upon  a  point  of  land  seven  miles  south  of  Manila. 

Stanza  10.  Bakor  Bay,  the  bay  formed  by  the  projection  upon 
which  Cavite  is  situated. 

Stanza  14.  Drake  (Sir  Francis,  1540-1596),  the  greatest  of  the 
Elizabethan  seaman,  whose  strategy  and  skill  and  audacious  courage 
were  largely  instrumental  in  destroying  the  Spanish  Armada. 

Farragut.     See  "  The  River  Fight." 

Blake  (Robert,  1599-1657),  called,  next  to  Nelson,  the  greatest  of 
the  English  admirals,  and  noted  for  his  victories  over  the  Dutch 
and  Spanish. 

Stanza  16.  Nelson.  See  "The  Fight  of  the  Armstrong  Pri 
vateer." 

50.  DEWEY  AT  MANILA.     By  Robert  Underwood  Johnson. 

Robert  Underwood  Johnson,  associate-editor  of  the  Century  Maga 
zine,  was  born  in  Washington,  D.  C.,  January  12,  1853.  As  sec 
retary  of  the  Authors'  and  Publishers'  Copyright  Leagues,  Mr. 
Johnson  rendered  valuable  services  to  the  cause  of  international 
copyright. 

Dewey.  See  note  on  "  A  Ballad  of  Manila  Bay,"  by  Charles  George 
Douglas  Roberts. 

Stanza  i.  Bocagrande  (large  mouth),  the  main  channel  into 
Manila  Bay  south  of  Corregidor  Island.  The  northerly  channel  is  called 
Bocachica  (small  mouth). 

Corregidor.     See  "  A  Ballad  of  Manila  Bay." 
Stanza  6.     Cavite".     See  "  A  Ballad  of  Manila  Bay." 
Stanza  7.     Montojo   (Admiral    Patricio    Montojo  y  Pasaron),  the 
commander  of  the  Spanish  naval  forces  in  the  Philippines. 
Stanza  8.     Farragut.     See  "  The  River  Fight." 
Stanza  12.     Gridley  (Charles  Vernon,  1845-1898),  the  captain  of 
Admiral  Dewey's  flagship,  the  Olympia. 

51.  THE  MEN.OF  THE  ".MERJUMAC."    By  Clinton  Scollard. 
,Clinton  Scollard.     See  note  on  "  Montgomery  at  Quebec." 

The  Merrima<  wa«.  sunk  on  the  morning  of  June  3,  1898,  in  order  to 
Mock  the  narrow  channel  into  Santiago  Bay  where  the  Spanish  fleet  was 
at  anchor.  The  men  who  engaged  in  the  perilous  venture  were  ; 


226  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

Lieutenant  Richard  Pearson  Hobson,  naval  constructor  (born  in 
Greensboro,  Alabama,  August  17,  1870  ;  graduated  from  Annapolis  at 
the  head  of  his  class  in  1889  ;  studied  in  France,  and  at  the  opening  of 
the  Spanish  war  was  conducting  the  post-graduate  course  in  construc 
tion  at  the  Naval  Academy  at  Annapolis). 

Osborn  Deignan,  a  coxswain  of  the  Merrimae. 

George  F.  Phillips,  a  machinist  of  the  Merrimae. 

John  Kelly,  a  water-tender  of  the  Merrimae. 

George  Charette,  a  gunner's  mate  of  the  New  York. 

Daniel  Montagu,  a  seaman  of  the  Brooklyn. 

J.  C.  Murphy,  a  coxswain  of  the  Iowa. 

Randolph  Clausen,  a  coxswain  of  the  New  York. 

Stanza  6.  Morro,  the  ancient  Spanish  fortress  commanding  Santi 
ago  Bay. 

Socapa  and  Estrella,  batteries  at  the  entrance  to  the  bay. 

52.  THE  CHARGE  AT  SANTIAGO.     By  William  Hamilton  Hayne. 
William  Hamilton  Hayne,  son  of  Paul  Hamilton  Hayne  (see  "  The 
Battle  of  Charleston  Harbor  "),  was  born  in  Charleston,  South  Caro 
lina,  March  n,  1856.      He  has  the  true  lyrical  instinct,  and  is  the 

author  of  many  quatrains  and  much  finished  "  nature  "  verse. 

Mr.  Hayne's  poem  commemorates  the  valor  of  the  American  troops  in 
their  charge  on  San  Juan  Hill,  near  Santiago  de  Cuba,  July  I,  1898. 

53.  SPAIN'S  LAST  ARMADA.     By  Wallace  Rice. 

Wallace  Rice.     See  note  on  "  Blood  is  Thicker  than  Water." 

"  Spain's  Last  Armada"  celebrates  the  great  naval  victory  of  July  3, 
1898. 

Stanza  3.  El  Morro  and  Socapa.  See  note  on  "The  Men  of 
the  Merrimac." 

Stanza  II.  Nimanima,  the  cove,  six  and  a-half  miles  from  the  en 
trance  to  Santiago  harbor,  where  the  Infanta  Maria  Teresa  was 
beached. 

Stanza  12.  Juan  Gonzales,  about  seven  miles  from  the  port  of, 
Santiago. 

Stanza  13.     Aserradero,  fifteen  miles  from  Santiago. 

Stanza  16.  The  Cape  o"  the  Cross,  Cape  Cruz,  at  the  south 
western  extremity  of  Cuba. 

Tarquino,  the  mouth  of  the  Rio  Tarquino,  where  the  ill-fated  Virgi. 
nius  expedition  landed. 


NOTES — LV  TIME   OF  PEACE  22? 

54.  BALLAD  OF  PACO  TOWN.     By  Clinton  Scollard. 

Clinton  Scollard.     See  note  on  "  Montgomery  at  Quebec." 

The  incident  described  in  this  ballad  occurred  during  the  battle  of 
Santa  Ana,  fought  on  the  5th  of  February,  1899,  and  resulting  in  the 
total  rout  of  General  Ricarti's  division  of  the  Filipino  army.  The 
signal-man  who  performed  the  daring  deed  was  Lieutenant  Charles  E. 
Kilbourne,  Jr. 

Paco  is  a  small  town  south,  and  slightly  east,  of  Manila. 

Un  Uime  of  peace. 

55.  PEACE  HATH  HER  VICTORIES.     By  Wallace  Rice. 

Wallace  Rice.     See  note  on  "  Blood  is  Thicker  than  Water." 

"  This  thrilling  international  episode  earned  the  thanks  and  rewards 
of  the  American  Congress,  Captain  Hughes,  of  the  Liverpool  steamer 
Lord  Cough,  obtaining  a  gold  medal,  and  all  his  gallant  men  being 
remembered." — W.  R. 

The  incident  took  place  in  December,  1889. 

56.  IN  THE  TUNNEL.     By  Bret  Harte. 

Bret  Harte.     See  note  on  "John  Burns  of  Gettysburg." 

57.  BALLAD  OF  CALNAN'S  CHRISTMAS.     By  Helen  Gray  Cone. 
Helen  Gray  Cone.     See  note  on  "  Greencastle  Jenny." 

James  F.  Calnan,  driver  for  Engine  Company  No.  34,  in  New  York 
City,  gave  up  his  life  on  Christmas  Day,  1897. 

58.  How   HE  SAVED  ST.    MICHAEL'S.        By    Mary  Anna    Phinney 
Stansbury. 

Mary  An'na  Phinney  Stansbury.  See  note  on  "  The  Surprise  of 
Ticonderoga." 

The  story,  as  related  in  the  poem,  is  in  the  main  true.  The  church, 
however,  was  St.  Philip's  (Charleston,  South  Carolina),  an  earlier  edifice 
that  stood  upon  the  same  site  as  St.  Michael's.  The  slave,  moreover, 
received  his  freedom,  not  from  the  city  authorities,  but  from  the  vestry 
men  of  the  church.  The  fire  occurred  in  the  year  1796. 

59.  THE  RIDE  OF  COLLINS  GRAVES.     By  John  Boyle  O'Reilly. 

John  Boyle  O'Reilly  was  born  in  Dowth  Castle,  County  Meath, 
Ireland,  June  28,  1844.  Entering  the  British  army  at  the  age  of 
eighteen,  he  was  detected  in  a  Fenian  plot,  and  sentenced  to 


228  BALLADS  OF  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

twenty  years  penal  servitude  in  Australia.  He  escaped  in  an  open 
boat,  was  picked  up  by  an  American  whaler,  and  brought  to  this 
country.  Settling  in  Boston,  his  ability  won  for  him  speedy  recog 
nition,  and  he  was  made  editor  of  the  Pilot,  a  position  which  he 
held  at  the  time  of  his  death,  which  occurred  on  the  loth  of  August, 
1890.  His  most  notable  contribution  to  poetry  was  his  "  Songs  of 
the  Southern  Seas." 

The  disaster  at  Williamsburg,  Hampshire  County,  Massachusetts, 
took  place  on  the  i6th  of  May,  1874.  The  Mill  River  dam,  which 
burst,  covered  one  hundred  and  twenty-four  acres  to  the  average  depth 
of  twenty-four  feet.  Nearly  two  hundred  lives  were  lost  in  the  villages 
of  Williamsburg,  Skinnerville,  Hayclenville  and  Leeds. 

1.  73.  Curtius  (Mettus,  or  Mettius),  a  young  Roman  who  sac 
rificed  his  life  for  his  country's  welfare,  B.  c.  362.  A  chasm  had  opened 
in  the  forum,  and  the  soothsayers  declared  that  it  could  only  be  filled  by 
casting  into  it  that  which  was  most  precious  in  Rome.  Curtius  appeared 
on  horseback,  clad  in  full  armor,  and  leaped  into  the  abyss,  crying  as 
he  did  so,  "  Rome  has  no  greater  riches  than  courage  and  arms  !  "  Ac 
cording  to  tradition,  the  chasm  at  once  closed  over  him. 

60.  JIM  BLUDSO.     By  John  Hay. 

John   Hay,    our   present   (1900)   Secretary  of   State,  and  recently 
United  States  Ambassador  to  Great  Britain,  was  born  in   Salem, 
Indiana,  October  8,  1838.     He  has  long  been  connected  with  the 
diplomatic  service.     During  the  Civil  War  he  was  a  private  secre 
tary  to  President  Lincoln,  and  in  conjunction  with  John  G.  Nicolay 
is  the  author  of  the  most  complete  biography  of  Lincoln  published. 
Jim  Bludso  was  Oliver  Fairchild,  the  engineer  of  the  steamer  Fash 
ion.    Mr.  Hay  is  unable  to  fix  the  date  of  the  disaster  to  the  Fashion. 

61.  GEORGE  NIDIVER.     Anonymous. 

62.  A  MAN'S  NAME.     By  Richard  Realf. 

Richard  Realf.     See  note  on  "  The  Defense  of  Lawrence." 
David  Simmons,  railroad  engineer,  was  killed  in  the  disaster  near 
New  Hamburgh,  New  York,  on  the  Hudson  River,  February  6,  1871. 

63.  THE  MAN  WHO  RODE  TO  CONEMAUGH.     By  John  Eliot  Bowen. 
John  Eliot  Bowen,  a  journalist  and  the  translator  of  Carmen  Syl- 
va's  "  Songs  of  Toil,"  who  was  for  a  number  of  years  connected 
with    The   Independent,    was  born  in  Brooklyn,  New  York,  June 
8,  1858,  and  died  in  the  same  city,  January  3,  1890. 


NOTES — IN  TIME  OF  PEACE  22Q 

The  bursting  of  the  dam  upon  the  south  fork  of  the  Conemaugh 
River  took  place  on  the  afternoon  of  May  31,  1889.  It  is  stated  that 
sixteen  million  tons  of  water  were  precipitated  down  the  Conemaugh 
valley  upon  Johnston,  Conemaugh,  and  various  smaller  towns.  A  con 
servative  estimate  of  the  loss  of  life  gives  it  as  three  thousand,  though 
some  reports  place  it  as  high  as  five  thousand. 

The  name  of  the  hero  who  rode  in  front  of  the  flood,  giving  the  alarm, 
was  Daniel  Peyton,  or  Periton.  The  following  poem,  by  an  anonymous 
hand,  pays  tribute  to  the  rider's  bravery  and  self-sacrifice. 

DANIEL  PERITON 
(May  31,  1889.) 

Now  that  the  land  lies  stricken 

By  a  deluge  dire  and  dread, 
And  the  bravest  spirits  sicken 

At  thought  of  the  doomed  and  dead, 
Let  a  chord  of  praise  be  smitten 

For  the  hero-hearted  one, 
And  a  requiem  song  be  written 

For  Daniel  Periton  ! 

Go  not  to  your  olden  story 

For  one  with  a  deathless  name  !— 
With  never  a  dream  of  glory, 

With  never  a  heed  of  fame, 
He  dashed  through  the  fated  city 

And  called  to  the  folk  to  fly  ; 
O  God  of  infinite  pity, 

Would  all  might  have  heard  his  cry  ! 

Too  late,  too  late  the  warning  ! 

For  the  wave  that  bore  despair 
Rushed  down  with  a  ruthless  scorning 

Of  mortal  strength  and  prayer. 
It  smote  in  its  mad  derision, 

It  gulfed  with  its  choking  breath, 
And  set  on  a  people's  vision 

The  blinding  seal  of  death. 

And  what  of  him  who  had  striven 

i'o  save  in  that  awful  hour 


23O.  BALLADS  Of  AMERICAN  BRAVERY 

When  the  stoutest  walls  were  riven 
By  the  flood's  remorseless  power  ? 

Dead  by  the  bridge  they  found  him, — 
Him  and  his  gallant  steed  ; 

But  ever  will  shine  around  him 
The  light  of  his  noble  deed  ! 

A  germ  of  divine  creating 

Abides  in  the  human  race, 
And  a  man  is  always  waiting 

To  spring  to  the  hero's  place. 
And  so  let  the  lyre  be  smitten 

In  praise  of  the  fearless  one, 
And  a  requiem  song  be  written 

For  Daniel  Periton  ! 

64.  JOHNNY  BARTHOLOMEW.     By  Thomas  Dunn  English. 
Thomas  Dunn  English.     See  note  on  "  Arnold  at  Still  water." 

Though  this  poem  has  a  newspaper  paragraph  for  its  basis,  the  author 
states  that  he  has  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  story  is  a  true  one. 

65.  His  NAME.     By  Margaret  Junkin  Preston. 

Margaret  Junkin  Preston.    See  note  on  "  The  Hero  of  the  Gun." 
An  incident  of  the  great  Boston  fire,  November  9,  1872. 

66.  OLD  BRADDOCK.     By  John  Vance  Cheney. 

John  Vance  Cheney,  poet  and  essayist,  was  born  in  Groveland,  New 
York,  December  29,  1848.  He  at  one  time  practised  law  in  New 
York  City.  He  has  been  in  charge  of  the  San  Francisco  Public  Lib 
rary,  and  is  now  head  librarian  at  the  Newberry  Library,  in 
Chicago. 
This  poem  has  no  foundation  in  fact. 

67.  IN  APIA  BAY.     By  Charles  George  Douglas  Roberts. 

Charles  George  Douglas  Roberts.  See  "A  Ballad  of  Manila  Bay." 
The  destructive  hurricane  at  Apia  (island  of  Upolu,  Samoa),  occurred 
on  the  I5th  of  March,  1889.  Three  German  and  three  American  war 
ships  were  either  driven  ashore,  or  crushed  upon  the  coral  reefs,  and 
nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty  lives  were  lost.  The  British  ship  which 
breasted  the  terrific  force  of  the  storm,  and  succeeded  in  escaping  from 
the  harbor,  was  the  corvette  Calliope.  The  American  flag-ship  was  the 
Trenton  (see  poem),  carrying  the  flag  of  Rear-Admiral  Kimberley. 

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